Lauriel 

The  Love  Letters  of  an 
American  Girl 


WOf.  «* 


* 

Hove  ^Letters  of  an 
Hmerican  (5itl 


EDITED    BY 

A,  H. 


With  a  Portrait  Frontispiece  in  Photogravure 


Boston 

X.  C.  page  &  Company 


Copyright, 
BY  L.  C.  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

(INCORPORATED) 


All  rights  reserved 


Colonial  tfrrss 

Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  C.  H.  Slmonds  &  Co 
Boston,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A. 


TO 

Sfoeetfjearte 

MAY   THEY    BECOME   OUR   WIVES 
TO 

©ur  IHfteg 

MAY  THEY   REMAIN   OUR   SWEETHEARTS 


ij  r>-f  r 


Editor's  Note 

GIRLS,  like  flowers,  are  unconscious 
flirts.  And,  like  the  flowers,  they  may 
be  innocent  in  their  desire  to  please. 
Were  it  not  for  the  madness  for  gauds, 
the  fashion  of  low-cut  dresses  and  the 
whirl  for  social  recognition,  —  each  a 
desperate  necessity  of  rivalry,  —  our 
women  would  not  be  moulting  their 
illusions  with  their  youth. 

But  frequently,  from  out  of  the  throng 
of  soarers,  a  young  creature  separates 
herself.  For  a  little  while  she  stands 
alone.  She  is  at  the  parting  of  the 
ways.  Social  intoxication  —  the  daily 
necessity  for  pleasure  —  the  calculating 
scramble  —  the  hollow  life  and  the  ex- 
periences which  precede  ceaseless  ennui 
—  these  cunningly  allure  on  the  one 
side.  On  the  other,  there  beckon  a 
simple  and  sober  life,  high-minded 


E  D  I  TO  R'S     NOTE 


friends,  whom  one  naturally  welds  to 
one's  heart,  a  home  that  is  a  home,  and 
not  a  hotel,  and  days,  each  one  of  which 
is  too  short  to  hold  its  own  happiness. 

Laura  Livingstone  chose  the  real. 
It  cannot  be  taken  away  from  her.  She 
is  the  type  of  womanhood  that  makes 
men  noble,  and  may  make  them  great. 
She  is  unconscious  of  her  nobility.  But 
the  man  she  loves  has  "  drunk  the  milk 
of  Paradise." 


vi 


Lauriel 

The  Love  Letters  of  an  American  Girl 


ORANGE,  N.  J.,  April  20,  1899. 
MY  DEAR  MR.  STRONG  :  —  I  am  the 
room-mate  of  your  sister  —  at  least  I 
was.  This  is  my  only  excuse  for  writing 
to  a  stranger.  I  am  doing  this  because 
Ethel  has  asked  me  to.  Ethel,  you 
know,  is  enthusiastically  clannish,  and 
has  what  seems  to  me  a  perfectly  un- 
reasonable adoration  of  her  brother. 
She  wrote  me  that  you  had  just  arrived 
in  New  York,  and  needed  a  home 
dinner.  Five  years'  absence  from  God's 
country,  in  the  mines  of  South  Africa, 
is  a  long  time  to  exist  without  plain 
North  American  cooking.  We  dine 
to-morrow  at  half-past  six  by  the  grace 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

of  a  red-haired  girl  three  months  out 
from  the  banks  of  Killarney.  It  will 
be  a  typical  suburban  meal. 

You  are  not  such  a  stranger  to  me, 
Mr.  Strong,  as  you  may  imagine.  I 
have  borne  with  resignation  four  years 
of  Ethel's  ravings  about  her  wonderful 
brother.  I  have  lived  with  his  picture 
in  my  room.  I  have  learned  to  detest 
him  and  it  most  heartily.  If  you  can 
take  the  taste  of  that  girl's  saccharine 
adulation  out  of  my  mouth,  it  will  be 
worth  in  itself  a  trip  to  the  Oranges. 

Papa,  as  you  may  not  know,  is  a  very 
uncertain  quantity.  He  lives  in  his 
laboratory  all  day,  and  most  of  the 
night.  Nevertheless,  as  Ethel  always 
wound  him  around  her  little  finger,  he 
heartily  joins  with  me  in  the  invitation 
which  Aunt  Niobe  says  is  entirely  in- 
formal. If  you  board  the  five-thirty 
train  I  will  cast  aside  my  pride  and 
prejudice  and  meet  you  at  the  station. 


L  AU  R  I  E  L 

You  will  take  your  life  in  your  hands, 
as  I  shall  drive  you  home  (D.  V.)  in 
Papa's  experimental  automobile.  It  is 
an  electric  runaway,  and  is  expected 
to  make  our  fortunes.  It  will  be  the 
only  automobile  at  the  station,  as  no 
others  dare  to  be  in  its  vicinity.  But 
as  I  shall  not  be  the  only  lady  present, 
I  will  wear  a  rose  pink  in  my  button- 
hole, which,  you  understand,  is  be- 
cause you  are  Ethel's  brother. 
Very  sincerely  yours, 

LAURA  L.  LIVINGSTONE. 

P.  S.  The  runaway  is  painted  crimson 
with  Papa's  monogram  in  rose. 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 


ORANGE,  N.  J.  April  26,  1899. 

MY  DEAR  MR.  STRONG:  —  I  suppose 
I  must  thank  you  for  the  chocolates, 
although  I  do  not  feel  at  all  compli- 
mented to  be  placed  in  that  class  of 
girls  that  can  be  appeased  by  candy. 

I  do  not  know  whether  to  be  glad 
or  sorry  that  Papa  took  a  fancy  to  you. 
"  Such  a  level-headed,  solid  man ;  it  is 
such  a  pleasure  to  talk  to  him,"  he 
said,  and  Aunt  Niobe  dropped  a  silent 
tear  of  assent,  and  nodded.  So  Papa 
said,  "  Let's  have  him  up  here  for  a 
week  if  it  doesn't  bore  him  too  much," 
and  I  laughed.  Can  you  imagine  why  ? 

So  you  are  to  come,  if  you  will,  next 
Saturday,  on  the  same  train,  and  will 
be  met  by  the  same  girl  in  the  same 
runaway.  Only  I  am  going  to  ask  you 
not  to  be  so  phlegmatic  next  time. 
When  I  nearly  ran  over  that  baby- 

4 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

carnage  you  didn't  even  lift  an  eyelash. 
Such  self-control  is  not  natural.  Ethel 
would  not  like  to  have  you  "  put  on " 
before  me. 

Now,  one  little  word  in  private,  or, 
as  we  used  to  say  in  college,  on  the 
"  D.  Q."  Papa  is  at  heart  a  worshipper 
of  Mammon.  So  is  Aunt  Niobe.  They 
don't  realise  it.  He  plans  and  dreams 
about  being  rich.  Poor  Papa!  He 
looks  upon  me  as  a  sort  of  a  queen 
in  the  cocoon. 

He  does  appreciate  manly  effort,  and 
respects  honourable  poverty  —  the  kind 
we  have  here.  And  he  likes  you.  I 
am  so  glad  that  you  are  not  rich,  other- 
wise they  would  grovel,  and  I  should 
hate  you. 

Poor  Papa !  He  does  not  realise  that 
a  girl  of  twenty-two,  who  can  play  golf, 
and  swim,  and  steer  a  boat,  and  run 
an  automobile,  must  therefore,  by  reason 
of  a  more  or  less  free  and  motherless 
5 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

life,  care  little  whether  her  dress  is  a 
dream,  her  hair  a  poem,  or  her  suitor 
a  prince. 

And  yet  —  and  yet,  I  have  at  times 
a  frightful  hankering  after  fleshpots  and 
jewels.  It's  in  the  blood,  I  suppose. 
Ah,  me! 

Come,  and  don't  be  so  didactic  this 
time,  and  bring  your  golf  clubs,  if  you 
have  any.  The  Orange  County  Club 
has  its  opening  on  the  3oth. 

Very  sincerely  yours, 
LAURA  L.  LIVINGSTONE. 

P.  S.  I  have  just  written  Ethel  that 
you  are  presentable,  but  not  absorbing. 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 


ORANGE,  N.  J.,  Tuesday,  the  ninth  of  May. 

DEAR  MR.  STRONG  :  —  A  wonderful 
thing  has  happened  since  you  left  yes- 
terday —  at  least,  Papa  says  so,  and 
Aunt  Niobe  has  gone  to  the  milliners, 
she  is  so  excited.  She  finds  the  only 
cure  for  nerves  to  try  on  a  new  bonnet. 
Her  nerves  come  high  at  certain  sea- 
sons of  the  year.  But  I  don't  take  a  bit 
of  stock  in  it.  I  have  lived  through 
such  panics  of  success  ever  since  I  was 
old  enough  to  play  cat's-cradle.  Papa 
says  that  he  has  completed  his  great 
invention.  You  remember  how  uneasy 
and  sarcastic  he  was.  When  he  has  an 
idea,  his  tongue  is  apt  to  be  like  a 
stream  of  sulphuric  acid.  Sunday  night, 
as  we  have  reason  not  to  forget,  it  was 
like  a  cataract  of  vitriol.  Ah,  these 
men  of  genius !  What  grade  of  origi- 
nality must  they  possess  in  order  to 
7 


L  A  U  RI  E  L 

have  their  eccentricities  forgiven  them  ? 
Dear  Papa !  He  is  so  lovely  when  he 
does  not  invent.  And  when  he  de- 
vises, he  is  almost  insupportable.  But 
we  are  used  to  it,  and  don't  mind.  Only 
strangers  are  not  apt  to  understand. 
You  were  very  patient,  and  I  appreciate 
it  —  for  Ethel's  sake.  From  now  on,  I 
do  not  mean  to  consider  you  a  stranger, 
if  you  please.  Because  now  I  come  to 
think  of  it,  I  don't  think  I  should  talk 
about  sulphuric  acid  to  a  stranger. 

Now,  sir,  Papa  says  (and  this  is  a 
terrible  secret)  that  he  has  finished  the 
new  storage  battery  that  he  has  been 
working  on  for  two  years.  He  hit  upon 
the  last  combination  that  unlocks  the 
secret  yesterday.  His  storage  battery 
is  done.  "  This  great  invention  solves 
aerial  navigation  ;  by  it  vessels  will  cross 
the  Atlantic  in  four  days,  and  auto- 
mobiles," which  is  more  to  the  point, 
"  will  be  able  to  go  three  hundred  miles 
8 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

without  recharging."  I  don't  under- 
stand it  very  much ;  but  it  is  an  en- 
tirely new  principle.  He  stores  his 
electricity  on  a  substance  something 
like  skeins  of  silk,  so  that  he  accumu- 
lates enormous  power  on  inconceivable 
lightness.  He  says  that  this  discovery 
is  a  revolution,,  it  will  make  him  many 
times  a  millionaire.  Poor  Papa !  I  am 
sure  I  do  not  know  whether  I  wish  his 
dreams  to  come  true  or  not. 

After  all  this  preliminary  scribble,  the 
reason  of  my  letter  is  as  follows :  Papa 
wants  you  to  come  right  out.  I  think 
he  wants  to  make  you  a  business  propo- 
sition. Of  course  you  will  do  what  you 
please  in  the  matter,  but  I  hope  that 
you  will  not  entertain  anything  that 
will  bring  you  two  into  close  business 
relations. 

This  is  Tuesday.  Come  to-morrow 
by  the  same  train,  if  possible.  Tele- 
phone, if  you  cannot,  and  please  don't 
9 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

bring  me  anything.  I  am  not  that 
kind  of  a  girl  —  unless  it  be  a  single 
pink.  Very  truly, 

LAURA  L.  LIVINGSTONE. 

P.  S.  Papa  is  like  strained  honey. 
He  is  crazy  to  talk  the  whole  matter 
over  with  you.  So  unless  you  want  to 
have  me  sacrificed  in  a  vat  of  hydro- 
chloric, you  had  better  not  miss  that 
train. 


10 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 


ORANGE,  N.  J.,  May  the  twenty-first. 
MY  DEAR  MR.  STRONG:  —  It  did  not 
need  your  letter  to  tell  me  of  the  ar- 
rangement that  you  have  made  with  my 
father.  I  heard  about  it  soon  enough. 
I  am  sorry  that  I  ever  invited  you  out 
in  the  first  place.  I  know  the  con- 
ditions under  which  you  are  going  into 
this  quasi-partnership.  That  this  will 
be  most  profitable  to  Papa,  I  do  not 
doubt.  A  marketable  idea  is  but  the 
signal  for  jackasses  to  scramble  to  the 
feast.  After  each  new  invention  Papa 
has  come  out  with  nothing  left  but 
sinews  set  for  another  struggle.  No 
matter  how  caustic  his  comments  on 
human  flesh-eaters,  his  heart  is  still 
buoyant.  To  him,  at  this  crisis  of  his 
life,  an  honest,  keen  business  man  is  a 
Golconda.  I  know  quite  well  that  he 
looks  upon  you  from  that  standpoint. 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

But  how  about  yourself  ?  You  have 
been  in  our  family,  and  I  can  speak 
frankly.  Papa,  as  you  know,  is  gener- 
ous, but  peculiar.  Irascible  through  the 
natural  gradations  that  come  from  in- 
dulgence in  sarcasm ;  jealous  beyond 
reason  of  anything  or  anybody  that 
interests  or  concerns  myself  —  a  wor- 
shipper of  wealth  —  insatiable  in  his  am- 
bitions for  me  to  become  a  great  social 
power  —  he  will  use  any  honourable 
means  to  accomplish  his  aims.  He  does 
not  realise  my  nature  at  all.  To  him 
you  are  an  interesting  ladder.  I  very 
much  fear  me  that  when  he  has  climbed 
—  I  dare  not  finish  the  simile. 

What  will  be  your  gain  ?  You  have 
your  life's  work.  Mines  call  to  be 
opened.  Men  like  you,  expert  and 
honourable,  are  scarce  at  any  price. 
Why  do  you  step  aside?  Your  de- 
cision, made  against  my  judgment,  will 
certainly  have  no  effect  upon  myself. 


L AU  R I E  L 

I  leave  for  Boston  to-morrow,  to  visit 
my  cousin,  Mrs.  Rand.  I  shall  prob- 
ably not  see  you  again  for  some  time. 
Aunt  Niobe  will  keep  me  informed 
how  the  invention  takes.  I  know  that 
Papa's  affairs  will  be  in  safe  hands  with 
you. 

Do  I  write  too  seriously  ?  if  so,  for- 
give me.  A  girl  can't  snicker  all  the 
time.  Good-bye. 

Very  truly, 
LAURA  L.  LIVINGSTONE. 

P.  S.  I  hope  you  don't  think  me 
disloyal  to  Papa  —  to  say  the  things  I 
have.  I  know  they  are  all  safe  with 
you.  Besides,  I  could  not  stand  by  and 
see  you  sacrificed  without  a  warning  — 
how  could  I  ?  Not  that  he  thinks  he  is 
sacrificing  you  —  dear  Papa  !  If  he  did 
I  wouldn't  tell  of  him  —  I  don't  think 
I  would  if  he  ruined  you.  But  when 
people  we  love  dearly  make  such  errors 
T3 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

of  judgment  as  to  affect  other  people  — 
even  when  we  don't  love  other  people  — 
I  think  it  is  right  for  us  to  speak,  don't 
you  ?  I  hope  you  think  so,  though  my 
sentence  is  as  crooked  as  a  half-intoxi- 
cated bee  in  a  clover-field,  and  I  don't 
just  see  my  way  out  of  it  —  and  on  the 
whole,  I  won't  try. 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 


EN  ROUTE  TO  BOSTON,  Monday,  May  22. 
MY  DEAR  MR.  STRONG  :  —  I  do  not 
know  whether  to  be  pleased  or  per- 
plexed by  your  presence  at  the  station. 
It  certainly  was  nice  of  you  to  come, 
and  your  Russian  violets  are  making 
out  a  very  strong  case  in  your  favour. 
But  you  shouldn't  have  asked  me  to 
become  a  regular  correspondent.  That 
was  a  terrible  mistake  in  tactics.  Do  I 
look  like  one  ?  Why  should  I  write  to 
you  regularly,  or,  as  for  that  matter,  to 
any  one  ?  It  would  bore  me  to  death. 
It  is  sufficient  that  you  are  Ethel's 
brother.  You  had  better  stand  on  that. 
It  is  the  only  firm  footing  you  have 
got ;  on  that  account,  if  for  no  other,  I 
shall  treat  you  with  the  consideration 
due  the  relationship,  and  your  age  and 
dignity.  If  I  calculate  aright,  you  are 
thirty-eight,  and  I  am  twenty-two.  You 
15 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

have  seen  the  world ;  you  are  experi- 
enced and  have  a  seriousness  and  grav- 
ity (you  notice  how  I  am  working  up 
to  it).  None  of  these  qualities  are  pos- 
sessed by  me.  You  are  dark  and  I  am 
fair.  We  are  at  opposite  poles.  No, 
sir;  I  will  not  correspond  with  you 
regularly. 

However,  if  you  have  anything  of 
importance  to  write  that  Aunt  Niobe 
might  overlook  and  Papa  forget  to 
mention,  I  cannot  refuse  to  read,  but  I 
shall  never  forget  that  you  refused  to 
take  my  advice. 

Do  you  often  travel  on  this  ten 
o'clock  limited  ?  I  presume  not,  as  you 
have  just  returned.  As  you  know,  it  is 
a  five-hour  service  and  two  trains  start 
simultaneously  at  each  terminal.  At 
twelve-thirty  precisely  the  two  trains 
pass.  Seldom  is  there  over  a  minute's 
variation.  To  me  it  is  always  an  as- 
tonishing illustration  of  railroad  ac- 
16 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

curacy.  As  I  write,  the  two  have  just 
whirred  by  —  on  time.  Starting  at  dif- 
ferent termini,  we,  too,  have  passed 
each  other  at  the  appointed  hour,  and 
must  now  whirl  on,  each  to  a  different 
goal.  For  Ethel's  sake,  I  wish  you 
happiness  and  success,  and  may  you 
arrive  on  time.  This  seems  a  little  like 
the  paternal  valedictory  of  a  college 
president;  somehow  or  other  I  can't 
trifle  with  you.  As  this  will  probably 
be  my  last  letter,  let  me  end  by  say- 
ing: fulfil  my  father's  ambition  if  you 
can.  If  his  invention  is  worth  anything, 
get  for  him  all  there  is  in  it.  You  have 
chosen  this  digression  for  a  time —  then 
make  it  a  great  success.  By  the  way, 
sir,  I  do  not  for  a  moment  believe  in 
your  very  lame  and  silly  explanation  as 
to  why  you  disregarded  my  advice. 
You  must  never  talk  so  again. 

If  you  succeed,  and  I  dread  success, 
for  it  will  mean  a  bondage  for  me,  I 
17 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

hope  you  will  see  to  it  that  you  make 
enough  in  commission,  or  whatever  you 
call  it,  to  salve  the  bitterness  that  will 
inevitably  be  yours  through  victory. 

I  am  afraid  you  will  not  be  able  to 
read  this  scrawl,  it  is  so  wriggly. 
Again  good-bye, 

LAURA  L.  LIVINGSTONE. 


18 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 


BOSTON,  MASS. 

MY  DEAR  MR.  STRONG  :  —  I  was  just 
sitting  down  to  write  you  when  your 
letter  was  handed  to  me.  Aunt  Niobe 
told  me  the  whole  story.  She  is  not 
noted  for  her  accuracy,  but  is  famous 
for  her  enthusiasm. 

The  sum  she  mentioned  is  calculated, 
so  my  little  cousin  George  (a  fascinat- 
ing, precocious  boy  of  twelve)  would 
say,  to  make  Rockefeller  look  like  thirty 
cents.  Your  conservative  figure  lets 
me  breathe  again.  So  you  have  sold 
Papa's  storage  battery  rights  to  an  Eng- 
lish syndicate  for  five  millions,  and  that 
includes  only  the  rights  in  the  British 
Empire,  and  you  intimate  that  the  end 
is  not  yet.  I  am  now  one  of  the  richest 
heiresses  in  the  country,  am  I  ? 

I  suppose  that  I  shall  be  grateful  to 
you  for  all  that  you  have  done  for  Papa. 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

But  I  can't  rejoice  a  bit  as  I  ought  to. 
I  suppose  my  wings  will  learn  to  fly 
later.  But  now  I  feel  weighted  and 
unhappy.  Frankly,  I  am  sorry  you 
ever  came.  But  I  don't  blame  you  one 
bit.  I  blame  myself.  Please,  I  beg 
you,  don't  make  Papa  any  richer.  This 
is  quite  enough.  Poor  Aunt  Niobe ! 
The  news  will  be  more  than  she  can 
bear.  She  will  go  up  on  it,  like  a  per- 
son on  an  aeroplane,  and  keep  flopping 
about  in  the  air,  and  tumbling  down 
every  little  while  —  and  then  up  again  ! 
I  expect  her  in  a  day  or  two.  These 
may  be  the  last  free  and  happy  hours 
that  I  shall  ever  know.  Don't  you  pity 
me?  Already  Mrs.  Rand's  maid  has 
caught  the  poison  of  the  gold.  It's 
"  Miss,  can't  I  do  that  ?  "  and  "  Miss, 
hadn't  you  better  wear  this  ?  "  But  the 
boy  is  all  right.  George  broke  out  at 
breakfast,  "  She's  the  richest  girl  in 

Boston,  is  she  ?     She  don't  look  it,  does 
20 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

she,  Papa?  I  bet  you  she  don't  get 
stuck  up  —  she's  like  me,  she  is.  She 
ain't  like  Mum." 

When  Aunt  Niobe  comes  we  shall 
decide  on  taking  a  house  for  the  sum- 
mer. I  shall  send  for  Ethel  the  first 
thing,  and  give  the  dear  girl  a  good 
time.  She  must  be  tired  to  death 
teaching. 

Very  sincerely, 

L.  L.  L. 
June  the  Sixteenth. 


21 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 


BOSTON,  MASS.,  June  23d. 
DEAR  MR.  STRONG:  —  Aunt  Niobe 
has  just  arrived  with  the  news  of  your 
quarrel  with  Papa.  How  could  you  ? 
I  feel  responsible  for  every  bit  of  it. 
Aunt  Niobe's  story  makes  it  out  very 
bad,  but  she  is  very  much  excited  over  it 
and  talked  until  one  o'clock  last  night. 
Then  she  took  one  of  her  powders 
— they  are  salmon-coloured  powders  — 
and  is  now  asleep.  Let  me  hear  at 
once  how  it  all  happened.  Papa  never 
writes  anything,  and  I  want  to  know 
all.  I  am  devoured  with  trouble  and 
curiosity.  You  must  have  lost  your 
temper  terribly.  I  have  written  to 
Ethel  to  come,  as  we  have  taken  the 
last  house  on  Eastern  Point.  You  can 
address  your  letters  there.  I  shall  not 
say  "  I  told  you  so."  I  have  had  a  col- 
lege education,  and  am  above  such  a 

22 


L  A  U  RI  E  L 

petty  revenge.  Only  I  am  so  sorry 
that  it  happened  as  it  did ;  I  knew  it 
was  bound  to  come  sometime.  It  is 
far  better  now  than  later. 

In  great  haste, 

L.   L.   L. 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 


EASTERN  POINT,  MASS.,  June  3oth. 

MY  DEAR  MR.  STRONG  :  —  I  do  not 
see  how  I  can  blame  you  in  this  most 
unfortunate  affair.  I  will  whisper  to 
you,  and  tell  it  not  to  the  yellow  press 
—  that  I  am  glad  the  explosion  came 
when  it  did.  It  was  a  choice  between 
bondage  and  freedom.  I  know  dear 
Papa  so  well.  He  has  suffered  fright- 
fully, and  is  not  responsible  at  times  for 
his  language.  It  was  a  sharp  touch  of 
indigestion,  and  you  happened  to  be 
one  of  the  few  men  he  has  known  who 
will  not  take  and  forgive.  Yet  I  am 
sure,  although  you  could  not  take,  you 
have  forgiven  —  have  you  not  ? 

But  I  do  blame  you  most  heartily  for 
your  pride  in  refusing  compensation 
for  what  you  have  done.  And  besides, 
you  put  him  into  the  hands  of  an 
"  honest  corporation  lawyer  "  —  I  think 
2.4 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

that  is  what  you  called  it  —  if  there  is 
such  a  thing,  who  will  protect  his  inter- 
ests ?  You  ought  at  least,  sir,  to  have 
charged  for  mileage  between  Orange 
and  New  York.  But  I  suppose  you  are 
a  man,  and  that  accounts  for  it.  / 
should  have  sent  in  a  bill  for  chocolates 
and  sodas  as  indispensable  if  not  indi- 
gestible extras. 

So  you  think  of  going  way  out  West 
to  Arizona.  I  suppose  Tucson  is  miny 
and  hot.  I  am  sure  you  will  feel  much 
freer  and  happier.  Really,  I  like  you 
much  better  away  from  Papa  than  too 
near  him.  It  makes  me  feel  so  sober 
and  responsible. 

It  took  the  gimp  right  out  of  me, 
when  it  came  to  writing  letters.  Did 
you  not  notice  how  stilted  and  stupid  I 
have  been  ? 

Let  me  tell  you  where  we  are.  It  is 
at  the  tip  of  the  Point.  Imagine  the 
sea  right  under  your  window,  and  the 
25 


L  A  CJ  R  I  E  L 

infinite  stretch  beyond.  Oh,  the  odour 
of  the  kelp  and  ozone !  Every  wave 
dashing  its  heart  out  on  the  granite 
rocks  sprays  freshness  and  freedom 
over  my  soul.  The  buoys  of  the  lob- 
ster pots  not  fifty  feet  away  already  bob 
good  morning,  and  the  old  fishermen  in 
their  dories  nod  a  kindly  recognition 
when  I  wave  my  handkerchief  at  them. 
Last  night  I  crept  into  a  little  red  crev- 
ice just  above  the  water.  Each  wave, 
creeping  higher,  covered  me  with  great 
salt,  sticky  drops.  Pretty  soon  a  large 
roller  espied  me,  and,  making  a  des- 
perate plunge,  wet  me  through  and 
through.  It  was  delicious.  Oh,  the 
madness  in  the  beckoning  of  the  sea! 
Who  can  withstand  its  call  ?  When  its 
dank  arms  surrounded  me  —  engulfed 
me  —  I  could  only  gasp.  The  queer 
thing  about  it  was  that  I  wanted  to 
capitulate  to  that  wave.  But  I  recov- 
ered from  my  folly  in  time  to  escape 
26 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

the  next  one  that  had  a  fateful  eye 
upon  me.  My  moment  of  homage  was 
past.  I  was  myself  again,  and  I  would 
not  have  capitulated  to  the  whole 
Atlantic  Ocean.  When  Aunt  Niobe 
caught  me  a  few  minutes  later  trying 
to  sneak  in,  she  gave  a  cry  of  horror, 
summoned  a  foolish  maid,  and  insisted 
upon  hot  drinks.  No,  thanks  to  you,  I 
am  now  too  precious  to  be  allowed  to 
be  natural  or  happy.  I  appeased  Aunt 
Niobe  by  solemnly  assuring  her  that 
salt  water,  straight  from  the  ocean,  was 
Nature's  own  wash  for  the  complexion, 
and,  indeed,  it  didn't  hurt  it. 

To-morrow  my  "  runaway "  comes. 
Papa  has  fixed  it  up  with  a  new  bat- 
tery. It  is  warranted  to  go  three 
hundred  miles  without  recharging.  I 
wonder  whether  I  shall  be  smashed  to 
hash  ?  The  roads  are  horrid.  I  should 
think  that  the  approach  to  such  a 
beautiful  spot  ought  to  have  been 
27 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

made  perfect  long  ago.  But  the  cod- 
ocracy  of  this  place  doesn't  agree  with 
me. 

You  will  be  so  pleased  to  know  that 
the  Newburys  of  Boston,  who  have  the 
next  place,  have  a  beautiful  seventy- 
footer.  Arthur  Newbury  is  a  thor- 
oughbred sport  of  about  twenty-five. 
He  has  blond,  curly  hair,  pink,  healthy, 
sunburned  complexion,  a  picturesque 
moustache,  and  one  of  those  square, 
long,  disproportioned  chins  that  be- 
token great  firmness  or  degenerate 
weakness.  He  is  charmingly  cultivated 
in  golf,  polo,  and  yachting.  I  like  him 
immensely,  because  he  has  invited  me 
to  take  a  spin  down  to  the  Shoals.  He 
suggests  that  I  take  him  land  yachting 
in  exchange. 

Ethel  comes  next  Tuesday.     This  is 

a  terribly  long,  stupid   letter.     It  is  a 

feeble  attempt  to  atone  for  your  recent 

sensational  experience.     Let  me  know 

28 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

when  you  go  out  West.  I  know  that 
you  will  discover  the  biggest  gold  mine 
in  the  country.  I  shall  want  to  tell 
Ethel  all  about  it. 

Very  sincerely, 

LAURA  L.  LIVINGSTONE. 

P.  S.  Aunt  Niobe  says  that  on  the 
whole  you  behaved  very  well.  She 
thinks  that  you  have  not  had  enough 
experience  in  dealing  with  the  very 
wealthy  to  acquire  tact.  Aunt  Niobe 
is  very  amusing,  now  that  she  is 
arrivee. 

P.  P.  S.  I  am  afraid  you  might 
misunderstand.  Men  are  so  stupid. 
I  was  simply  quoting  Aunt  Niobe.  I 
know  you  have  the  nicest  kind  of  tact 
if  you  will  only  promise  not  to  send  me 
any  more  flowers.  You  can't  afford  it. 
Now,  who  hasn't  any  tact?  Besides, 
if  tact  means  "touch,"  in  the  slangy 
29 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 


sense,  I  am  glad  you  are  one  of  the 
very  few  that  haven't  "  touched  "  papa. 
Good-bye,  here  comes  young  Newbury 
to  take  me  out  sailing,  bless  him ! 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 


TELEGRAM 

EASTERN  POINT,  July  3. 
MR.  ROYAL  STRONG, 

University  Club,  New  York: — 
Ethel    arrived    to-day.      Won't    you 
come  up  and  spend  the   Fourth  with 
us,  and  see  Ethel  before  you  go  West  ? 
Papa  will  not  be  able  to  come. 

LAURA  L.  LIVINGSTONE. 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 


Sunday,  July  9. 

DEAR  MR.  STRONG  :  —  I  do  not  think 
that  you  had  any  right  whatever  to 
send  me  such  a  letter.  I  would  not 
have  written  so  soon,  or  even  at  all, 
if  I  did  not  want  to  tell  you  so  immedi- 
ately. Arthur  Newbury  is  a  perfect 
gentleman.  There  !  He  does  not  make 
eyes  at  me,  and  I  am  not  encouraging 
him.  How  dare  you  insinuate  that  he 
or  I  would  do  such  things?  Really, 
you  presume,  sir,  overmuch  on  being 
Ethel's  brother,  or  perhaps,  because 
you  have  been  of  service  to  Papa,  you 
think  that  you  can  dictate  to  me,  as  to 
what  friends  I  may  have,  and  as  to  how 
they  and  I  shall  behave. 

Oh,  I  feel  so  much  better  to  have 
said  my  say. 

Now,  I  proceed  to  forgive  you  be- 
cause you  have  lived  in  the  wilds  of 
32 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

South  Africa  so  long,  and  have  for- 
gotten the  usages  of  polite  society,  in 
which  we  learn  to  conceal  our  thoughts 
rather  than  to  express  them.  Does  not 
this  false  standard  account  for  the 
decadence  of  oratory  and  real  conver- 
sation ? 

Then  I'll  forgive  you  for  Ethel's 
sake  —  she  thinks  so  much  of  you,  poor 
girl !  I  quite  pity  her  for  her  infatua- 
tion. And  finally,  I'll  forgive  you  be- 
cause you  are  big  and  honest,  and  — 
yourself.  Now,  having  forgiven  you 
three  times,  Mr.  Strong,  I  hope  it  will 
never  occur  again. 

We  did  have  a  good  sail,  and  Mr. 
Newbury  was  very  nice  to  you.  You 
ought  to  appreciate  that.  He  has 
inquired  for  you  since,  and  says  you 
were  a  "  darned  good  fellow  although 
so  confoundedly  quiet."  Doesn't  that 
hot  coal  burn  the  bald  spot  on  the  top 
of  your  head  ?  If  it  doesn't,  you  must 
33 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

have  washed  it  in  alum,  or  thatched  it 
with  asbestos. 

How  you  did  frown  when  I  invited 
Mr.  Newbury  to  join  us  in  that  last 
morning  ride  in  the  run-away!  I  can- 
not understand  your  dislike  to  him. 
He  is  so  pleasant  and  genial.  He  fits 
in  so  easily.  I  had,  of  course,  to  make 
up  a  little  for  the  beautiful  sails.  Didn't 
we  have  a  fine  run  down  to  the  station 
at  Manchester?  I  think  it  is  almost 
as  exhilarating  as  yachting.  Still,  I'll 
admit  you  don't  have  to  go  through 
miles  of  impossible  Gloucester  roads 
when  you  start  out  in  a  boat.  On  the 
way  back,  after  we  had  said  good-bye 
to  you,  Ethel  and  Mr.  Newbury  matched 
to  see  who  should  ride  with  me  going 
home.  He  said  it  wouldn't  look  nice  to 
see  two  girls  sitting  together  on  the 
front  seat  of  an  auto.  Who  do  you  sup- 
pose won  ?  Guess ! 

I  have  refused  to  go  out  sailing  this 
34 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

afternoon.  I  suppose  I  am  foolish,  but 
Sunday  ought  to  be  a  day  of  rest,  and 
I  have  been  going  so  all  the  week.  We 
are  dining  at  the  Newburys  to-night. 
Don't  be  cross. 

I  hope  you  will  get  the  appointment 
to  inspect  the  mine  for  the  English 
syndicate.  I'll  give  you  a  "  recom- 
mend "  if  you  want  me  to.  Let  us 
know  how  it  turns  out,  and  when 
you  start. 

Very  truly  yours, 

LAURA  L.  LIVINGSTONE. 

P.  S.  As  Ethel  is  writing  to  you  in 
the  next  room,  I  did  not  tell  her  that  I 
have  picked  my  little  bone  with  you. 
I  send  greetings  to  you  through  her. 


35 


L  AU  R  I  E  L 


July  17. 

MY  DEAR  MR.  STRONG  :  —  You  bewail 
the  heat  of  the  city,  and  crave  a  breath 
of  fresh  sea  air,  do  you  ?  As  I  know 
from  experience  that  Chicago  is  insup- 
portable when  the  wind  blows  from  the 
south  in  July,  I  am  directing  this  to 
the  Auditorium,  hoping  that  it  may  serve 
as  a  breeze  to  your  gasps  and  a  check 
to  your  swears. 

Eastern  Point  is  beautiful.  As  they 
say  of  Bar  Harbor,  "  it  combines  so 
much."  I  can  see  the  sun  rise  over 
the  ocean,  and  watch  it  set  over  the 
bay.  Where  else  in  New  England  is 
that  possible  ?  I  have  never  been  on 
intimate  terms  with  the  sea  before,  and 
my  rapture  is  engrossing  and  deep.  It 
seems  as  if  almost  nothing  else  were 
worth  while,  and  I  recall  snatches  of 
Homer's  and  Virgil's  rhymes  of  the 
36 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

deep  —  about  the  only  thing  that  I  car- 
ried away  from  my  college  life.  How 
stuffy  and  narrow  it  seems  now!  It 
gave  me  friends,  and  taught  me  how 
to  learn.  Perhaps  it  is  enough  for  a 
girl. 

But  let  me  tell  you  now  about  the 
harbor  and  the  downs.  Does  it  bore 
you  ?  I  love  them  so !  I  like  to  talk 
about  them  to  you.  You  are  long-suf- 
fering, and  beneath  your  graven  exte- 
rior I  am  sure  there  is  a  little  sympathy 
for  a  poor,  motherless  million-heiress. 

Indeed,  I  have  little  or  no  enjoyment 
excepting  playing  truant  from  Aunt 
Niobe,  putting  on  my  short  skirt,  and 
striding  over  the  downs  and  rocks.  You 
know  I  am  pretty  tall,  and  Ethel  and 
I  can  cross  a  lot  of  territory  in  a  short 
time.  And  when  I  am  not  sailing,  or 
walking,  or  bathing,  it  is  clothes,  clothes^ 
and  being  made  presentable,  and  hav- 
ing your  hair  just  right.  Father  has 
37 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

insisted  upon  my  having  a  special  maid, 
who  combines  hair-dressing,  manicur- 
ing, and  French.  She  certainly  is,  if 
you  are  not  shocked,  a  "  peach." 

What  is  this  terrible  race  that  Papa 
and  Aunt  Niobe  have  entered  me  for? 
For  what  am  I  expected  to  run  ?  What 
win?  I  am  dieted  and  groomed  until 
I  could  shriek.  And  Ethel  sits  by  and 
howls.  I  suspect  that  I  am  only  let 
loose  on  the  downs  to  keep  my  roses  in 
bloom. 

Oh,  the  Cape  Ann  roses!  I  wish 
that  my  cheeks  could  match  their  deli- 
cate tints,  and  I,  by  some  mysterious 
process  of  enfleurage,  could  absorb  their 
scent.  Like  all  things  too  exquisite  to 
battle,  their  petals  fall  so  easily.  The 
house  is  kept  full  of  these  beautiful 
roses,  —  wild,  because  single-petalled,  I 
presume,  —  and  in  the  morning  the 
floors  are  covered  with  pink,  as  if 
fairy  bridesmaids  had  floated  through 
38 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

and   had   dropped    their   hats    in   their 
flight. 

I  was  brought  up  on  fairies,  not  the 
kind  you  read  of  in  Hans  Andersen 
and  "  Water  Babies,"  but  real  kobolds  of 
the  rocks  and  pixies  of  the  wood.  They 
were  my  own  fairies,  and  would  come 
when  I  called.  They  never  frightened 
me,  for  they  were  my  own  creation,  and 
did  not  grow  beyond  my  control.  I 
never  outlived  their  reality,  and  I  still 
see  people  in  the  roses,  and  forms  in 
the  groves  and  rocks  just  as  other  per- 
sons do  in  the  clouds.  Yesterday,  I 
saw  an  old,  old  man  at  a  distance.  I 
know  he  beckoned  to  me.  He  was  at 
the  top  of  the  oldest,  tallest  rosebush 
on  the  Cape,  just  near  the  house.  So 
I  reached  up  and  scratched  my  fingers 
and  picked  him.  He  wanted  to  say 
something,  and  I  put  him  to  my  lips 
and  kissed  him  because  he  seemed  so 
lonely  and  so  old.  Not  knowing  what 
39 


L  AU  R  I  E  L 

else  to  do,  and  knowing  he  wanted 
companionship  of  his  own  seeking,  I 
took  him  to  Mother  Ann. 

Right  by  the  lighthouse  is  the  strong 
profile  of  an  old  woman,  cut  by  the 
master  surf  in  the  red  granite  ledge. 
Half  reclining,  the  old  lady  looks  out 
to  sea  with  eternal  vigilance  and  pa- 
tience. What  does  she  seek  ?  For 
whom  is  her  vigil?  The  spume  and 
the  wrack  have  been  her  mates  —  tears 
have  dropped  from  her  eyes  in  storm 
and  wreck.  Who  can  say  that  granite 
orbs  do  not  see  ! 

Long  before  the  lighthouse  came  to 
bear  her  company,  she  guarded  this 
desolate  tongue  in  grim  silence.  So 
I  took  the  old  man  over,  and  placed 
him  in  the  old  lady's  flinty  mouth. 
When  I  looked  back,  I  thought  Mother 
Ann's  stern  profile  had  softened  a  little 
at  this  sacrificef  and  I  know  the  old 
Man  Rose  curled  lovingly  toward  the 
40 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

old  lady's  beetling  nose  that  she  might 
scent  again  the  spring  she  had  not 
known  for  ten  thousand  centuries.  Am 
I  foolish  ?  Papa  would  say  that  I  was 
fey. 

I  am  sitting  on  the  piazza  —  I  almost 
said  on  the  horizon  —  for  however  vast 
the  distance,  our  horizon,  I  suppose,  is 
the  limit  of  our  own  view.  As  you 
remember,  we  call  it  the  "deck." 

The  breeze  is  cool  as  a  siphon.  I 
lazily  watch  and  write.  My  scribble  is 
as  desultory  as  my  observation.  Out 
at  the  mouth  of  the  harbour  a  fleet  of 
little  yachts,  like  butterflies,  are  escort- 
ing a  big  schooner.  The  water  looks 
like  blue  plush  brushed  the  wrong  way, 
and  fades  away  in  colour  by  the  shore 
to  pale  watered  silk. 

We  are  going  to  be  very  busy  this 

week.     The  N.  Y.  Yacht  Squadron  is 

coming  in,  and,  as  Mr.  Newbury  is  a 

member,  I  expect  to  meet  yachtsmen 

41 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

by  the  tide.     We  shall  give  a  dance. 
Don't  you  wish  you  could  come  ? 

Sometime  I'll  tell  you  about  the 
wharves  that  reek  with  female  artists 
and  smell  of  the  lost  souls  of  dead  fish, 
provided  you  tell  me  all  about  your 
own  surroundings,  your  mines,  and  your 
prospects. 

I  wish  you  would  recommend  a  book 
that  would  teach  me  all  about  miner- 
alogy. 

If  Ethel  were  here  and  knew  that  I 
was  writing,  she  would  send  all  sorts  of 
messages.  Of  course,  I  can't  make  them 
up.  We  go  to  Newport  in  September. 
The  Newburys  have  invited  Aunt  Niobe 
and  me  down  on  the  yacht. 

Sincerely, 
LAURA  L.  LIVINGSTONE. 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 


July  26. 

MY  DEAR  MR.  STRONG:  —  We  had  a 
tremendous  excitement  yesterday.  Mr. 
Newbury  took  us  out  fishing,  and  Ethel 
has  asked  me  to  tell  you  all  about  it. 
She  is  not  much  hurt.  Her  right  arm 
is  twisted,  and  Arthur  Newbury  is  read- 
ing aloud  to  her. 

You  see  we  started  out  in  the  Ariel. 
There  were  five  or  six  of  us  in  the 
party.  We  all  made  up  a  pool  to  be 
divided  as  prizes  for  the  one  who  cap- 
tured the  first,  the  largest,  and  the 
smallest  fish.  For  half  an  hour  not  a 
fish  peeped.  Finally,  I  felt  an  awful  tug 
at  my  line,  and  began  to  pull  in.  They 
tried  to  help  me,  but  I  wouldn't  let  them. 
Aunt  Niobe  wasn't  with  us,  as  she  has 
mal  de  mer,  so  I  didn't  think  of  my 
hands. 

"  I'll  bet  you  it's  a  catfish,"  cried  Mr. 
43 


L  A  U  RI E  L 

Newbury,  dancing  about,  giving  oceans 
of  advice. 

"  I  never  heard  of  a  woman  catching 
a  cat,"  Ethel  answered,  valiantly. 

"  I'll  go  you  a  half  a  dozen  gloves  to 
a  necktie  made  by  yourself,"  Arthur 
Newbury  shrieked,  bending  over  the 
side. 

"  I'll  go  you,"  said  Ethel,  quickly. 
"  Laura  has  come  out  for  cod,  and  she 
knows  enough  to  catch  one,  or  some- 
thing better." 

By  this  time  I  was  all  used  up, 
and  Arthur  grabbed  the  line.  I 
don't  suppose  he  knew  what  he  was 
doing. 

"The  gaff!"  he  yelled.  "Two  of 
them ! " 

By  this  time  a  large  white  body 
appeared,  and  then  gave  a  plunge  and 
darted  down,  the  cord  cutting  the  poor 
boy's  hands  as  it  disappeared. 

"What  is  it?"  he  gasped. 
44 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

"  It's  a  halibut,"  said  the  skipper, 
"  an'  the  first  one  caught  off  these 
rocks,  I'll  bet,  for  five  years.  Let  me 
handle  him." 

The  owner  of  the  Ariel  was  only  too 
glad  to  give  up  the  line,  for  his  hands 
were  bleeding.  I  seemed  to  have  es- 
caped just  in  time. 

It  took  just  two  to  land  that  fish  on 
deck.  Just  as  it  came  over,  it  gave  poor 
Ethel  an  awful  clip  with  its  tail  right 
on  the  arm.  That  is  the  reason  Ethel 
cannot  write.  Would  you  believe  it, 
that  fish  weighed  one  hundred  and 
eighty-five  pounds,  and  the  skipper 
said  it  would  bring  twelve  cents  a 
pound  at  the  wharf?  and  I  hooked 
it  all  myself. 

It  has  since  turned  out  to  be  the 
biggest  fish  caught  off  Gloucester  for 
years  and  years,  and  I  am  posing  as  a 
heroine,  and  am  thinking  of  going  on 
exhibition  with  my  catch  at  ten  cents  a 
45 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

view.  Arthur  Newbury  is  serious  about 
it.  He  says  he  will  be  manager — he 
will  get  the  whole  Point  and  most  of 
the  hotel  people  to  go,  and  give  the 
proceeds  to  the  Fishermen's  Bethel.  As 
it  was,  I  have  sent  over  the  whole  purse 
which  I  took,  as  there  was  no  more 
fishing  that  day. 

The  fish  was  so  big,  it  reminded  me 
of  the  French  translation  of  that  part 
of  Cooper's  stories  where  it  said  the 
hero  tied  his  horse  to  a  locust.  The 
Frenchman  literally  translated  locust 
into  cicada  and  gravely  added  a  foot- 
note, lest  the  reader  should  be  sur- 
prised, which  explained  that  in  America 
locusts  grew  to  such  enormous  size  that 
almost  every  family  had  a  tame  one  for 
use  as  a  hitching-post. 

So  that  is  why  Ethel  is  laid  up,  and 

I  have  to  write.     You  ask  me  whether 

my  money  weighs  on  me.     I  can  only 

answer  in  the  words  of  Michael  Angelo, 

46 


LA  URIEL 

true  to-day  as  when  he  lived  and  loved 
and  carved  and  wrote,  —  "  Men  are 
worth  more  than  money." 

As  always, 

L.  L.  L. 


47 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 


July  30,  1899. 

MY  DEAR  SIR  :  —  Ethel  is  a  little 
rogue,  and  if  she  does  not  behave  better 
I  shall  put  her  in  my  "  runaway "  and 
turn  on  the  power  and  let  her  go.  I 
have  just  had  "  Pegasus "  painted  in 
small  gold  letters  on  the  rear  panel.  I 
don't  see  why  a  land-yacht  should  not 
have  a  name  as  well  as  a  sea-yacht  —  do 
you  ?  How  do  you  like  the  name  ? 
But  Ethel  should  not  have  told  you 
about  my  birthday.  The  little  gold 
nugget  had  a  long  way  to  travel  from 
the  mines  of  South  Africa  to  the  throat 
of  a  girl  who  is  very  grateful,  and  who 
thanks  the  giver  as  prettily  as  she 
can. 

Now  I  don't  want  you  to  plume  your- 
self and  puff  yourself  with  pride,  but  I 
am  pleased  to  have  met  you.     You  are 
so   full    of   purpose    and   vital    energy., 
48 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

You  Do  —  with  a  big,  big  D  —  while 
we  dream.  I  was  brought  up  so  curi- 
ously. Papa  was  always  at  something, 
and  always  in  a  cloud.  You  could  only 
see  his  feet,  but  his  head  was  lost  in 
the  fog.  I  never  supposed  he  really 
accomplished  anything,  until,  at  last, 
the  dream  came  true.  Perhaps  a  dream 
isn't  so  useless,  after  all,  if  it  translates 
a  tithe  of  its  fancies  into  deeds.  Christ 
and  Alexander  died  at  the  same  age. 
Has  the  world  ever  entertained  greater 
dreamers  or  greater  doers  ? 

I  do  not  think  that  we  change  after 
thirteen.  While  my  mother  was  pas- 
sionately aristocratic,  to  her  hard  work 
was  another  phase  of  religion.  Perhaps 
the  best  heredity  is  poverty  and  blue 
blood.  She  had  both,  and  I  never  saw 
her  make  a  bed  or  sew  but  that  she  did 
it  with  a  dignity  and  zest  that  made 
labour  seem  the  most  honourable  thing 
in  the  world,  and  the  one  most  worth 
49 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

doing.  She  never  was  idle  until  she 
died,  when  I  was  thirteen. 

I  want  something  to  do.  Oh,  the 
dead  monotony  of  having  a  good  time 
all  the  time !  Seriousness  and  work  are 
subjects  to  be  ashamed  of  and  tabooed 
when  you  speak  to  a  rich  girl.  I  am 
generally  the  gayest  of  the  gay,  and 
then  there  are  times  when  I  could  more 
easily  die  than  chat.  The  petty  talk, 
the  gossip,  the  long  details  of  finery, 
the  planning  of  triumphs,  and  the  dis- 
appointment because  a  dress  or  an 
appearance  did  not  cause  sufficient 
sensation  —  these  vapid  nothings  weary 
one  to  death.  At  times  I  am  afraid  I 
shall  make  a  very  poor  heiress.  Summer 
men  are  such  idiots !  or  haven't  the 
leisure  class  anything  in  their  brains  ? 

We  are  very  gay  here  now  —  and 
very  busy  —  doing  nothing.  The  har- 
bor is  full  of  yachts,  and  the  Point  is 
full  of  cottagers,  but  the  men  I  happen 
5° 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

to  meet  have  little  to  say  or  to  suggest 
or  to  stimulate  me.  Is  it  because  I  am  a 
rich  girl  and  therefore  beneath  common 
sense  and  energy  and  intellect  ?  or  is  it 
because  they  have  exchanged  values  so 
long  that  they  mistake  nothing  for  some- 
thing ?  I  suspect  that  it  is  a  blend  of 
the  two. 

Now,  what  shall  I  do  ?  Autoing, 
sailing,  dancing,  flirting  are  not  all 
life  should  give  a  girl,  I  am  sure.  I 
can't  let  poor  Aunt  Niobe  suspect  this 
fault  in  me.  You  know  what  I  mean 
by  fault.  Do  you  remember  when  we 
sat  by  the  little  canon  and  watched  the 
waves  boom  in,  you  told  me  that  the 
vein  of  black  rock  was  called  a  "  fault," 
and  was  trap  forced  up  by  heat  through 
the  granite,  and  that  this  was  more 
easily  acted  upon  by  the  waves  ?  This 
eagerness  not  to  waste  my  life  in  com- 
petition with  the  rich  and  in  dazzling 
the  poor,  is  the  trap  into  which  I  have 
51 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

fallen.  Is  it  a  fault  to  be  cultivated  or 
not? 

There  is  a  progressive  euchre  party 
to-night.  Mr.  Newbury  has  ordered 
the  prizes  from  Boston.  Aunt  Niobe 
and  the  French  maid  are  fluttering  like 
jib  topsails  in  a  breeze. 

Now,  sir,  if  you  do  not  suggest  some- 
thing useful  for  me  to  do,  I  shall  never 
forgive  you  for  carrying  through  the 
English  syndicate.  I  am  afraid  Papa  is 
getting  too  rich  to  be  safe.  Have  you 
read  in  the  papers  about  the  new  Stor- 
age Trust  Company  of  America  ?  It  is 
to  use  Papa's  new  invention,  and  he  will 
get  several  times  more  than  his  last 
"  rake-off  "  and  have  ever  so  much  stock 
besides.  He  is  now  building  a  large 
experimenting  and  machine-shop  in 
Newark,  and  will  not  be  here  at  all. 
He  wrote  a  brief  letter  saying  that  he 
was  doing  it  all  for  me,  and  what  my 
mother  missed  I  am  to  have.  I  am  to 
52 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

limit  myself  in  nothing,  and  to  let  no 
one  outshine  me.  Oh,  poor  Papa!  I 
know  he  will  be  terribly  disappointed. 
I  don't  want  to  shine.  I  don't  feel  like 
a  sun  at  all.  If  Aunt  Niobe  were  not  so 
crazy  about  pushing  me  I  don't  know 
what  I  might  do.  As  it  is,  I  wonder  at 
her  persistent  compulsion.  Can  you 
suggest  an  antidote  ? 

This  is  a  stupid,  gropy  letter.  Per- 
haps you  will  understand  it  better  than 
I  do. 

Always  truly  yours, 

L.    L.    L. 


53 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 


Sunday,  Aug.  6. 

MY  DEAR  MR.  STRONG:  —  Of  course 
a  girl  is  a  contradiction.  Isn't  that  her 
privilege?  The  limitations  of  her  life 
don't  give  her  many. 

You  ask  me  which  is  my  true  self. 
The  laughing,  superficial  heiress,  court- 
ing admiration  and  indignant  when  it 
is  expressed,  the  lover  of  sports  and  the 
killer  of  time ;  or  the  other  girl  ?  Am 
I  artificial  or  real?  Am  I  pewter  plated 
with  gold  ?  or  twenty-four  carat  fine 
from  centre  to  circumference  ?  It  is 
a  fair  question  for  a  friend  to  ask  —  but 
how  difficult  to  answer!  Is  it  not 
impossible  to  answer  ?  I  should  never 
have  thought  of  asking  that  question  of 
you.  My  intuition  is  too  sure.  You 
are  not  brilliant  and  you  do  nothing  for 
effect.  The  coruscations  of  conversa- 
tion, those  fireworks  of  the  shallow 
54 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

mind  that  glitter  and  excite  our  ap- 
plause, always  fall  into  the  water  with 
a  swish  and  are  gone.  Blackness  fol- 
lows the  more  intense.  How  short  the 
moment  of  green  and  scarlet  light ! 
But  the  white  light  on  Ten  Pound 
Island  is  there,  every  night,  and  guides 
steadily.  No  one  holds  his  breath  and 
cries  "  Ah ! "  when  he  sees  it,  yet  how 
many  mariners  has  that  silent  light 
blessed !  You  —  you  are  as  true  as 
steel  and  as  strong.  People  depend  on 
you.  They  would  trust  their  lives  to 
your  word.  Yet  you  will  never  be  rich; 
you  are  too  modest  and  honest.  At  the 
same  time,  you  are  self-reliant  and  mas- 
terful. Am  I  right  ? 

Last  night  a  visitor  read  "  Omar  Khay- 
yam." There  were  perhaps  a  dozen 
people  to  listen.  They  say  he  is  a  mem- 
ber of  the  Omar  Khayyam  Club  of  Bos- 
ton. His  voice  was  like  a  silver  flute. 
His  tone  was  exquisitely  modulated,  and 
55 


L A  U  R I  EL 

his  expression  and  enunciation  perfect. 
Indeed,  it  was  evident  that  he  was  read- 
ing his  religion  aloud.  It  is  rare  that 
one  hears  the  New  Testament  or  the 
Psalms  read  so  sympathetically.  This 
man  would  stop,  and  let  each  word  sink 
into  the  soul  like  dew.  We  were  all 
hypnotised,  and  I  heard  receptively, 
like  one  entranced.  We  were  on  the 
piazza,  —  all  dark  but  a  Japanese  lan- 
tern over  the  interpreter.  The  dreamy 
expanse  of  the  sea,  the  marvellous  mel- 
ody of  the  poem,  and  the  rhythmic  pulse 
of  the  softly  descending  tide,  completed 
the  illusion.  When  he  finished  we  could 
not  speak.  Not  one  of  us  but  at  that 
magic  moment  thought  Omar  the 
prophet  of  the  world,  and  would  gladly 
have  been  swallowed  up  in  a  Nirvana 
of  roses  and  wine  and  blind  fate. 
Life  seemed  suddenly  to  be  satis- 
fied and  rounded  by  the  fulfilment 
of  — 

56 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

"  A  Book  of  Verses  underneath  the  Bough, 
A  Jug  of  Wine,  a  Loaf  of  Bread  —  and  Thou 
Beside  me  singing  in  the  Wilderness, 
Oh,  Wilderness  were  Paradise  enow  !  " 

This  morning  I  got  up  early  before 
breakfast,  and,  taking  Omar  and  my 
Bible,  scudded  to  my  favourite  rocks. 
The  sun  had  risen  hot,  the  dew  was 
heavy,  and  the  sea  motionless.  There, 
for  the  first  time,  with  unillusioned 
mind  and  with  an  empty  stomach,  I 
read  Fitzgerald's  translation  aloud. 
I  had  always  mooned  and  dreamed 
over  it  before,  by  snatches  and  moods. 
This  time  I  went  at  it  like  a  problem 
in  astronomy.  Ah,  the  pagan  ode  to 
nothingness !  It  is  like  a  wonderful, 
empty  ruby  cup.  You  pour  and  pour, 
and  nothing  but  the  red  flash  of  the 
pigeon  blood  replies  to  you.  That  is 
enough  to  satisfy  most  aesthetic  na- 
tures, perhaps.  What  an  intellectual 
bauble  that  dead  philosophy  is !  How 
57 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

mesmeric  in  its  metre,  plausible  in  its 
appeal,  and  empty  in  its  comfort!  Is 
life  but  an  unexplained  day  in  an  un- 
known tent?  And  is  the  flower  that 
blows  for  ever  dead  ?  Omar  is  the 
apostle  of  dreamland  and  of  the  lotus- 
minded.  To  lull  the  senses  with  wine 
and  the  mind  with  beauty  is  the  old, 
old  trick  that  rarely  fails  to  allure  and 
win. 

I  was  reminded  that  Omar  and  St. 
Paul  were  both  makers  of  tents  as  well 
as  teachers  of  philosophy.  If  the  thir- 
teenth and  fifteenth  chapters  of  Corin- 
thians, along  with  the  ninety-first  Psalm, 
were  bound  with  Omar  Khayyam,  there 
would  be  fewer  pagans  among  our  Chris- 
tians, and  fewer  decadents  among  our 
modern  poets.  It  is  so  easy  to  go  any- 
where but  to  the  highest  source  of  truth 
for  our  inspiration  !  Anything,  and  any 
excuse,  any  intellectual  intoxication 
rather  than  the  Christian  Bible!  How 
58 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

fascinating  Omar  is !  And  most  people 
would  rather  be  engulfed  in  a  mael- 
strom of  roses  than  suffer  a  little  with- 
out wine. 

I  am  not  a  church-member,  and  I 
never  professed  to  be  exactly  what  is 
called  a  Christian.  But  I  had  a  teacher 
once  who  was  one.  Sometimes  she 
spoke  with  me,  and  once  she  asked  me 
into  her  room,  and  we  knelt  by  her 
little  straight,  white,  narrow  bed,  and 
she  prayed,  I  find  I  think  of  that  very 
often. 

Good-bye.  I  have  written  a  terribly 
long  letter,  and  am  tired  to  death,  and 
have  just  time  to  join  the  rest  in  bath- 
ing. Perhaps  you  disagree  with  me. 
Don't  answer  this,  if  you  do,  but  tell 
me  all  about  your  new  mine  instead. 
In  haste,  L.  L.  L. 


59 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 


Aug.  it. 

MY  DEAR  MR.  STRONG  :  —  I  wonder 
who  it  is  that  said  that  "  sausages  are 
capable  of  exciting  the  deepest  emo- 
tions." We  had  a  hors  d'oeuvre  for 
dinner  that  Mr.  Newbury  called  "  Little 
dog  on  toast,"  not  a  very  elegant  ex- 
pression, but  full  of  feeling.  It  was 
certainly  the  most  extraordinary  dish 
our  cook  has  yet  devised.  It  afforded 
every  wag  an'  opportunity  for  a  bon  mot. 
Ethel  carried  off  the  palm  by  saying 
that  our  bite  was  worse  than  his  bark. 
How  every  one  howled  ! 

I  don't  know  what  makes  me  feel  so 
frivolous  to-night.  The  piazza  and  rocks 
still  exude  gaiety.  It  must  be  an  excess 
of  ozone  in  the  air,  or  perhaps  it  is  the 
advent  of  the  Grand  Duke  Constantine. 
The  duke  is  a  very  charming  and  cor- 
rect young  man.  His  brother  is  a  real 
60 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

king,  and  he  is  on  board  a  titled  Eng- 
lishman's yacht  that  is  lying  in  the 
harbor.  They  say  the  Englishman  is 
fortune  hunting,  and  the  duke  is  his 
touchstone  to  forfend  a  fatal  mistake. 
I  can't  see  how  they  happened  in  here 
where  there  is  no  quarry  except  of 
granite.  Aunt  Niobe  made  me  put  on 
my  pearls  that  have  just  come  from 
Tiffany's,  and  a  new  fluffy  dress.  The 
duke  said  that  I  looked  more  like  a 
princess  born  of  the  blood  than  any  one 
he  had  ever  seen  in  Europe.  He  won- 
dered how  I  could  be  an  American, 
and  even  now,  I  presume,  he  is  specu- 
lating where  I  hide  my  Indian  blood. 
Evidently  my  blonde  hair  rattled  him. 
But  wasn't  he  nice  to  say  what  he 
did? 

Do   you    know,   sir,    that    your    last 
letter  was  very,  very  glum  ?     Is  it  dys- 
pepsia ?  or  the  darkness  of  the  drifts, 
or  the  solitude  that  clouds  your  mind  ? 
61 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

I  don't  know  whether  to  be  sorry 
for  you  or  to  be  displeased  at  your 
audacity. 

After  much  serious  thought,  and  hav- 
ing questioned  all  the  rocks  and  some 
of  the  waves,  I  have  decided  to  grant 
your  request.  You  may  call  me  Laura 
if  you  wish  —  once  in  a  great  while ; 
not  too  often ;  but  I  shall  not  return 
the  compliment.  You  are  too  old  and 
dignified  for  me  to  say  "  Royal."  When 
I  speak  to  Mr.  Newbury  I  sometimes 
say  "  Arthur,"  because  everybody  else 
says  Arthur.  He  is  one  of  the  people 
who  are  usually  called  by  their  first 
name.  You  know  there  are  such  per- 
sons. He  doesn't  mind  it,  but  takes  it 
as  a  matter  of  course.  Ethel  does  the 
same  occasionally,  and  she  lets  him  say 
Ethel.  I  suppose  it  is  the  freedom  of 
the  out-of-door  life  that  relaxes  our  man- 
ners, but  he  hasn't  presumed  to  address 
me  with  such  familiarity  yet.  I  wouldn't 
62 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

allow   it  for  an  instant.      He  is  such 
a  boy! 

But  for  Ethel's  sake  you  may  call  me 
what  you  please.  I  will  accept  the 
offer  of  your  friendship,  formally,  as  the 
request  came  to  me,  and  grant  mine  in 
the  same  spirit  of  cameraderie.  What 
dreamers  we  girls  are !  Women  are 
not  less  so,  I  imagine,  although  their 
experience  is  broader.  Because  a  woman 
is  changeable,  complex,  untranslatable, 
and  illusive,  that  is  no  reason  why  she 
may  not  be  fitted  for  the  noblest  friend- 
ship. When  Heine  said,  "  I  will  not 
affirm  that  women  have  no  character ; 
rather  they  have  a  new  one  every  day," 
he  meant  that  the  very  want  of  prosaic 
consistency  invests  a  woman's  friend- 
ship with  a  new  charm  every  day,  and 
so  makes  it  necessary  for  one  to  strive 
continually  to  fulfil  her  illusions,  and 
satisfy  her.  For  I  do  not  see  how  the 
friendship  of  a  man  with  a  woman  can 
63 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

ever  be  anything  but  active,  just  as  the 
friendship  between  man  and  man  is 
generally  passive.  Two  men  part  for 
ten  years,  and  take  up  the  relation  in 
the  same  place  where  it  left  off.  There 
is  neither  retrogression  nor  advance. 
That  is  not  possible  between  woman 
and  woman.  Why  should  the  cordial 
relations  between  those  of  the  same  sex 
be  called  "  friendship,"  and  as  soon  as 
friendship  touches  man  and  woman  it 
is  called  Platonic  love  ?  I  hate  that 
term.  It  is  responsible  for  more  dis- 
appointments and  marriages  than  any 
other  phrase  in  the  English  tongue. 
Let  ours  be  a  friendship  pure  and 
simple.  Let  it  command  trust  and  pos- 
sess beauty,  if  it  can.  Madame  Reca- 
mier  had  beautiful  friendships,  many  of 
them ;  call  it  Ballanche,  call  it  Chateau- 
briand, one  was  her  chief  of  friends. 
Theodore  Parker  and  Frances  Power 
Cobbe  were  friends  of  a  high  caste. 
64 


L A  U  RI EL 

You  see  friendship  is  a  possibility. 
You  see  I  have  been  reading  Alger's 
"  Friendships  of  Women "  and  am 
primed  with  the  subject.  I  could  quote 
the  most  beautiful  things  in  the  world. 
As  long  as  our  new  friendship  is  a 
quotation  from  Petrarch  and  Laura  I 
shall  be  satisfied.  And  do  not  think 
that  I  demand  the  literary  or  poetic 
matrix  to  our  new  pact.  Fidelity,  hon- 
our, affection,  and  truth  are  common 
denominators  that  add  the  blacksmith 
to  the  village  belle  as  well  as  the  phi- 
losopher to  the  princess.  Emotions  are 
not  exclusively  the  possession  of  writers, 
although  these  seem  to  appropriate  them 
with  an  arrogance  that  is  sometimes 
nauseating.  So  the  friendship  which 
makes  you  thank  God  every  day  that  it 
exists,  that  you  depend  on,  and  that 
death  seems  only  to  enhance,  is  what  I 
confess  to  have  craved  since  I  was  a 
girl  in  short  skirts.  Nobody  has  ever 
65 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

realised  what  mature  longings  little 
girls  have ;  not  even  poets,  who  know 
so  much,  understand  girls. 

Now,  I  am  glad  to  have  you  for  my 
friend.  You  will  be  my  only  real  man 
friend,  and  you  must  be  strong  and 
wise  and  patient,  and  not  scold  me  for 
my  moods  and  tenses. 

It  is  very  late.  I  wonder  if  it  is  the 
quiet,  lending  itself  to  untrammelled 
fancy,  I  might  almost  say  uninterrupted 
illusion,  that  has  made  me  write  what 
I  have.  I  was  always  a  little  afraid  of 
you,  and  seemed  to  have  known  you  all 
my  life.  When  you  were  near  I  was 
silenced  by  your  gravity,  and  thought 
you  would  look  upon  me  as  a  silly 
schoolgirl  if  I  laughed.  Now  we  are 
on  the  same  plane,  and  I  feel  natural 
and  happy. 

I  have  been  thinking  it  over,  and 
believe  this  is  true :  Friendship  is  that 
which  is  within  a  man's  power,  and  love 
66 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

that  in  whose  power  a  man  is.  Let  us 
keep  the  distinction  and  so  avoid  failure 
in  this  beautiful  experiment. 

By  the  magic  which  seems  to  compel 
me,  I  sign  myself, 

Faithfully  your  friend, 

LAURA. 


67 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 


Aug.  15. 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND  :  —  What  a  solvent 
friendship  is!  This  does  not  sound 
as  if  it  might  be  original  with  Aristotle, 
but  it  is  with  me.  You  say  you  like 
my  letters.  I  wonder  that  you  do  not 
find  them  trite  and  schoolgirly.  And 
I  have  been  out  of  college  only  two 
years.  What  can  a  girl  know  of  life? 
She  can  only  dream  and  scribble  the 

J 

thoughts    that   chase   each   other    like 
fireflies  in  the  dark. 

You  urge  me  to  read,  and  be  thought- 
ful, and  become  an  angel  to  the  poor. 
But  how  can  I  read  when  I  haven't  a 
moment  to  myself?  How  can  I  be 
thoughtful  when  everybody  is  laugh- 
ing? How  can  I  be  serious,  when 
everybody  else  is  frivolous  ?  You  don't 
want  me  to  be  a  death's  head  at  the 
ball,  and  how  can  I  be  an  angel  to 
68 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

the  lower  classes  ?  Wings  do  not  come 
on  Worth  dresses ;  they  are  not  a  la 
mode.  And  as  for  the  lower  classes, 
you  remind  me  of  a  parody  on  Watts 
I  once  read : 

"  Whene'er  I  take  my  walks  abroad 

How  many  poor  I  see  ! 
And  as  I  never  speaks  to  them 
They  never  speaks  to  me." 

You  can  do  all  these  high-minded 
things;  they  are  natural  to  you.  Then 
you  want  me  to  simplify.  Oh,  dear, 
dear!  your  advice  is  most  excellent, 
most  grave  and  reverend  sir.  But 
how  ?  Now  there  is  a  luncheon  at  the 
Country  Club  to-morrow.  We  are  to 
sail  over  to  Manchester  after  the  mail 
is  in.  It  is  queer,  but  I  never  am  out 
when  the  mail  is  due.  Then  we  sail 
back  (on  the  Englishman's  yacht),  and 
have  supper  on  board,  and  a  dance  here 
in  the  evening.  I  shall  be  simply  a 
69 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

wreck.  How  simplify  a  wreck  into 
a  serious,  reading  angel  ?  You  have 
no  idea  what  a  pace  Aunt  Niobe  sets 
me,  and  we  are  talking  of  Newport  for 
the  Horse  Show  in  September,  and 
Europe  in  October.  Papa  says  I  am 
to  tour  the  world.  Heavens ! 

Now,  my  friend,  read  me  this  riddle. 
Which  is  I  ?  The  "  Princess,"  as  you 
are  pleased  to  call  me,  on  the  continual 
go,  gay  as  the  gayest  ?  or  the  girl  who 
tries  to  write  you  true  letters  out  of 
her  heart,  and  who  is  glad  to  have 
a  big,  strong  friend  that  is  like  a  moun- 
tain of  iron  to  be  depended  upon  ?  You 
are  a  sort  of  haven  for  my  soul,  even  if 
you  are  the  only  harbor  of  refuge 
in  dry  Arizona.  You  don't  mind  my 
mixing  metaphors,  do  you,  as  long  as 
there  is  a  period  between.  You  are 
a  great  way  off ;  yet  I  don't  know  but 
that  I  like  you  at  a  distance  better  than 
near  to.  But  it  is  pretty  far. 
70 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

No,  I  do  not  admire  the  average  rich 
young  man.  Perhaps,  frivolous  and 
vapid  as  they  appear,  they  are  as  simple 
at  heart  as  I  am.  But  I  judge  them 
by  their  fruits  —  mostly  olives  and 
cherries,  in  the  bottom  of  small  glasses 
filled  with  mixed  drinks.  The  Grand 
Duke  Constantine  is  different.  He  has 
a  purpose  in  life.  He  is  a  strong  young 
man,  about  twenty-seven,  charming  and 
natural.  He  always  has  something  to 
talk  about,  and  doesn't  treat  a  woman 
as  if  she  were  a  music-box.  He  is 
modest  —  never  speaks  about  his  posi- 
tion, and  when  he  is  forced  to  say 
things  about  himself,  they  are  reason- 
able and  manly  things.  I  think  he  feels 
the  need  of  making  a  name  for  himself. 
Younger  brothers  of  royalty  haven't 
much  of  a  career  except  in  the  army 
or  navy.  Duke  Constantine  is  now  a 
captain  in  the  navy,  and  hopes  to  be 
admiral  when  he  is  forty. 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

It  is  disgraceful  the  way  the  girls 
tag  about  him.  But  the  men  just  treat 
him  like  one  of  themselves.  I  do  like 
men,  and  I  like  the  duke.  Aunt  Niobe 
is  making  a  goose  of  herself  over  him, 
and  I  am  afraid  I  shall  have  to  give 
up  my  good  times. 

But  I  think  I  do  see  life  with  a  little 
clearer  focus  lately.  You  put  into  the 
frail  test-tube  a  few  drops  of  pride  and 
ambition,  and  flattery  and  insincerity, 
shake  it  up  —  and  how  muddy  it  looks ! 
Then  pour  in  a  strong,  fine  friendship ! 
Presto !  the  dregs  disappear,  and  life 
becomes  suddenly  clarified. 

Thank  you,  my  friend,  you  are  doing 
much  for  me  without  knowing  it. 

Good-bye,  I  am  going  to  try  to  be  an 
angel  day  after  to-morrow,  and  will  tell 
you  about  the  experiment.  Shall  I  en- 
close a  feather?  The  duke  is  waiting 
for  a  walk.  There  is  one  place  I  shall 
not  take  him  to. 

72 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

You  say  I  am  Concentrated  Sunshine, 
and  call  me  "  Incarnated  Helium  !  "  Isn't 
that  a  terrible  strain  for  a  compliment  ? 
I  can  almost  hear  your  medulla  creak. 
Have  you  lost  your  senses  as  well  as 
your  chemistry?  Is  not  helium  the 
most  inert  element  in  the  world,  as  it 
has  absolutely  no  affinity  ?  At  least 
to  you,  sir,  I  have  proved  that  there  is 
no  helium  in  my  veins.  Try  again, 
my  friend.  I  am  afraid  you  stumbled 
that  time  —  against  one  who  ages  ago 
stood  second  in  chemistry. 
Your  friend, 

LAURA. 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 


Aug.  1 8. 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND  :  —  I  am  afraid  you 
are  jealous.  A  woman's  heart  may  be 
flattered  by  jealousy ;  but  does  not  the 
presence  of  the  demon  necessitate  an 
eviction  from  the  Paradise  which  friend- 
ship creates  ?  I  am  afraid  I  lack  many 
of  the  attributes  supposed  to  be  essen- 
tial to  women.  One  of  them  is  curi- 
osity. I  do  not  care  what  your  past  life 
has  been.  You  must  have  had  many 
friendships  —  possibly  some  affairs  of 
the  heart  —  and  numberless  minor  ex- 
periences. These  have  each  put  their 
imprint  upon  you,  and  have  made  you. 
Take  away  any  of  those  impressions, 
and  perhaps  your  friendship  with  me 
would  have  been  an  impossibility.  Is 
it  not  strangfe  that  each  successive  feel- 
ing, each  sensation,  each  enthusiasm, 
and  each  disappointment  are  but  pre- 
74 


L  A  U  RI  E  L 

paring  one  for  —  for  a  nobler  friendship, 
I  mean  ? 

And  I  do  not  think  that  a  friendship, 
such  as  ours,  ought  to  be  or  should 
become  all-absorbing.  The  greatest 
mistake  a  woman  makes  is  when  she 
expects  to  occupy  a  man's  whole  time 
and  attention.  Wives  often  fall  into 
that  fatal  error.  Friends  should  not. 
I  should  not  be  surprised  if  I  were 
hundred-faceted,  with  each  facet  reflect- 
ing and  absorbing  its  own  ray  of  light. 
You  do  not  yet  understand  how  many- 
sided, — yes,  how  many-natured  a  woman 
is.  She  gives  one  thing  to  one,  another 
to  another.  In  this  she  is  the  very  es- 
sence of  sincerity,  as  long  as  she  doesn't 
confuse  gifts.  If  she  does,  she  becomes 
a  coquette,  and  there  is  no  help  for 
her. 

Perhaps  the  crown  ot  the  jewel  — 
that  facet  which  lets  the  light  deepest 
into  my  heart,  and  reflects  the  largest 
75 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

gleam  from  my  nature  —  belongs  to  you. 
Can  you  not  be  satisfied  ?  What  smiles 
or  attention  or  nonsense  or  joy  I  give 
to  others,  I  do  not  take  away  from  my 
grim  and  Royal  friend,  who  is  working 
alone,  and  needs  all  the  brightness  in 
life  that  he  can  get. 

Because  I  have  accorded  to  you  what 
I  give  to  no  other  person,  your  friend- 
ship is  exalted,  and  you  are  in  a  certain 
way  consecrated.  Do  you  understand  ? 
The  flowers  that  I  lay  upon  your  altar 
have  breathed  their  perfume  on  no  other 
life.  Does  that  gratify  you.  most  de- 
manding sir? 

But  I  must  have  my  other  facets  free. 
The  world  is  so  beautiful,  and  1  enjoy 
it  so  much.  I  cannot  be  hampered.  I 
am  young.  You  see  I  will  not  be  ruled, 
even  by  my  metaphors,  against  which  I 
am  rebel  again. 

Arthur  Newbury  and  the  duke  are  so 
different.  You  come  to  the  end  of  the 
76 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

former's  horizon  in  a  week.  It  ends  in 
a  golf  stick  or  a  two-spot.  But  the  duke 
has  no  limits.  He  is  of  boundless  inter- 
est. He  has  been  everywhere.  He 
knows  every  one.  He  has  studied 
everything,  and  his  ideals  are  fine  and 
manly.  He  is  no  Philistine,  or  decadent, 
or  sport. 

Papa  came  up  yesterday.  We  did 
not  expect  him.  The  two  are  charmed 
with  each  other,  and  the  duke  is  to  visit 
him  and  his  laboratory.  He  knows  all 
about  electricity,  and  is  to  go  over 
Papa's  invention.  Papa  was  at  his  best, 
and  very  courteous.  I  know  you  will 
be  interested  in  all  this.  It  is  a  curious 
coincidence,  but  since  the  duke  has 
come  upon  the  scene  here  the  Presi- 
dent has  made  a  diplomatic  shift  and 
my  uncle  (Mamma's  brother),  Cornelius 
Van  Reuter,  of  New  York,  has  just 
been  appointed  minister  to  Illeria.  I 
may  spend  the  next  winter  there  — 
77 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

who  knows?  Just  think  of  an  Ameri- 
can girl  getting  an  inside  glimpse  of 
real  court  life.  Won't  it  be  exciting? 
Just  like  one  of  the  impossible  novels 
that  every  one  reads  and  no  one  be- 
lieves. Aunt  Niobe  is  crazy  to  go,  and 
Papa  says  I  can  do  what  I  want  to,  as 
long  as  I  am  properly  chaperoned  and 
don't  give  myself  away  to  a  bankrupt 
nobleman.  Do  you  know,  I  am  begin- 
ning to  suspect  that  there  is  a  class  of 
insects  called  Fortuna  Hunteriensis. 
That  Englishman  is  becoming  a  little 
insupportable,  and  I  shall  not  step  foot 
on  his  yacht  again.  You  see  I  can  take 
care  of  myself.  The  duke  is  very  nice 
about  it.  He  has  saved  me  from  annoy- 
ing attentions. 

Write  me  about  yourself  and  your 
mine.  I  want  a  letter  before  we  go  to 
Newport. 

Toujours  votre  amie, 

LAURA. 
78 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 


Sunday,  Aug.  20. 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND:  —  What  you  say 
is  perfectly  impossible.  Really,  with 
your  imagination  you  ought  to  give  up 
mining,  and  take  to  answering  ques- 
tions of  etiquette  in  the  "  Bud's  Home 
Journal."  And  your  suspicions  are  as 
facile  as  your  fancy.  Do  you  really 
think  that  the  Earl  of  Wolfborough 
steamed  into  Gloucester  Harbor  with 
special  and  particular  designs  upon  me  ? 
Can  you  conceive  of  the  duke's  being 
on  a  level  with  a  common  English  titled 
fortune-hunter?  Why  do  you  not  de- 
prive me  of  Arthur  Newbury  for  the 
same  reason  ?  And  why,  sir,  do  you 
not  resign  your  own  claims  to  my  friend- 
ship on  some  one  else's  suspicion  for  a 
like  cause  ?  Must  my  life  henceforth 
be  passed  in  questioning  the  motives  of 
each  unmarried  man  who  is  presented  ? 
79 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

You  would  not  have  me  believe  that  I 
am  fair  prey  to  every  one  ?  There 
must  be  some  who  surround  me  with 
unloaded  gun,  and  without  hook  and 
line.  I  shall  pin  my  faith  in  Ethel,  and, 
if  you  will  allow  me,  without  undue 
criticism,  in  her  brother,  although  he 
has  succeeded  in  making  me  very  un- 
happy and  distrustful.  But  it  is  a 
curious  fact  that  the  next  day  after  the 
Earl  of  Wolfborough  presumed. to  —  to 
say  a  few  disagreeable  words  to  me  - 
the  duke  and  he  had  a  falling  out.  At 
any  rate,  the  duke  accepted  "Arthur 
Newbury's  invitation  to  stay  with  him, 
while  the  Englishman  sailed  for  New- 
port. Arthur  Newbury  told  Ethel  that 
the  earl's  creditors  had  supplied  him 
with  the  yacht,  and  money  enough  to  run 
it  lavishly  for  three  months,  and  sent 
him  over  here  for  an  American  heiress. 
Isn't  it  horrible  ?  This  traffic  in  blood, 
and  gold  for  coronets  and  position ! 
80 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

You  ought  to  see  the  man !  Did  I 
describe  him  to  you  ?  There  is  no 
doubt  he  has  a  real  castle  in  pawn,  and 
a  patent  of  nobility  dating  back  to  some 
early  Henry,  which  is  in  check.  He  has 
narrow  and  padded  shoulders,  and  is 
below  the  average  height.  His  fore- 
head rises  to  a  bald  peak,  and  his  eye 
is  held  in  place  by  a  monocle,  which  is 
never  taken  off  except  when  he  goes  in 
sea-bathing;  then  it  is  shifted  to  the 
other  eye.  He  dives  with  it  in  full 
bloom.  His  dress  is  properly  creased 
and  correctly  plaided  ;  his  manners  dig- 
nified, and  his  speech  slow  and  senten- 
tious. His  only  originality  consists,  as 
Arthur  Newbury  says,  in  losing  money 
at  poker  without  comment.  In  this,  his 
composure  is  almost  American.  My 
few  decisive  remarks  did  not  flaster 
him.  They  only  added  fuel  to  his 
equanimity.  He  had  heard  that  all 
American  girls  were  eager  for  a  title, 
81 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

and  could  not  imagine  that  his  irre- 
proachable position  could  be  scorned. 
Evidently  I  was  not  a  typical  Ameri- 
can girl,  and  he  apologised  for  mistak- 
ing me  for  a  member  of  the  aristocracy 
which  he  would  be  sure  to  find  in  New- 
port. With  high-bred  nonchalance  he 
whistled  for  his  gig  and  departed  to 
his  yacht. 

In  the  meanwhile,  Arthur  Newbury 
and  the  duke,  Ethel  and  I,  will  form  a 
comfortable  quartette  until  we  go  to 
Newport,  although  I  shrink  from  the 
trip,  and  if  it  were  not  for  Aunt  Niobe 
and  Papa  I  should  be  happy  to  stay 
where  we  are  until  October. 

I  was  going  to  write  you  this  time 
about  my  angelic  experiment.  But  I'll 
tell  you  all  about  it  in  my  next  letter. 
We'four  are  going  over  to  town  in  the 
runaway  in  a  few  minutes,  and  possibly 
beyond  to  the  Country  Club.  The 
world  is  very  beautiful.  There  are  nice, 
82 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

true  people  in  it,  and  I  feel  very  happy. 
Don't  wait  until  you  make  your  fortune 
before  telling  me  all  about  your  life  and 
surroundings.  You  write  too  much 
about  me  and  too  little  about  yourself. 
As  always, 

LAURA. 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 


Aug.  24. 

DEAR  FRIEND  :  Oh,  I  want  to  tell 
you  so  much  about  my  attempt  to  be 
an  angel.  It  was  all  due  to  you,  as  in- 
deed most  of  my  few  unselfish  actions 
are.  Since  you  have  come  into  my  life, 
and  we  have  made  our  little  compact,  the 
pleasures  I  used  to  dream  about  do  not 
seem  quite  as  important  as  they  did. 
After  my  trips  to  the  Fishermen's 
Bethel,  they  seem  even  less  so.  But  I 
must  try  to  answer  your  perplexity 
first. 

You  say  my  disquisition  on  friend- 
ship, especially  that  part  of  it  which 
dealt  with  the  facts  conspiring  to  make 
each  one's  character  the  lovable  or  un- 
lovable thing  it  is,  shows  an  experience 
that  you  little  thought  I  had ;  as  if  only 
an  older  woman  could  have  written  it. 
But  an  older  woman  didn't  write  it  — 
84 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

and  what  has  age  to  do  with  the  matter, 
anyway?  A  woman,  I  imagine,  is  al- 
ways a  girl  in  heart  and  feeling,  even  if 
she  isn't  in  texture,  and  I  know  that  a 
girl  is  always  a  woman  in  instinct  and 
intuition  even  if  she  hasn't  what  is 
called  experience.  But  experience  is 
not  always  necessary  for  theory,  and 
sometimes  not  even  for  wisdom.  Is 
not  the  knowledge  of  the  world  inborn 
in  a  great  poet  or  writer  so  that  he  does 
not  have  to  enervate  his  mind  with  ex- 
periences, or  dissipate  it  with  varied 
observation  ?  So  the  knowledge  of 
some  of  the  elemental  conditions  of 
life  is  a  girl's  by  divine  intuition ;  she 
may  be  able  to  express  it,  although  in 
doing  so  she  may  expose  herself  to  the 
surprise  of  even  her  best  friend.  Shall 
I  check  my  thought  with  modesty,  and 
not  express  my  feeling  ? 

My  dear   friend,  you    do    not   know 
what  it  is  to  be  an  only  son.     If   you 
85 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

did,  you  would  understand,  in  smaller 
part,  the  solitude  of  a  motherless,  broth- 
erless,  and  sisterless  girl.  When  other 
children  are  playing,  she  is  thinking. 
Always  a  companion  of  those  much 
older  than  herself,  especially  when  she 
is  held  too  precious  to  go  to  school  like 
other  children,  she  is  a  critic  at  ten,  and 
a  philosopher  at  fifteen.  Most  children 
are  dissipated  by  too  much  study  or  too 
much  play.  They  do  not  think.  They 
only  feel  or  obey  blindly.  Their  intuition 
is  blunted  just  when  it  is  most  needed. 
Even  now,  like  a  dog,  I  can  divine  the 
true  from  the  false  person  at  a  glance. 
My  moral  antennas  are  as  responsive  as 
the  cilia  of  an  amoeba.  Does  it  bore 
you  to  hear  me  dissect  my  process  of 
thought  ?  or  does  it  sound  conceited  ?  or 
both  ?  That  is  the  reason  that  I  seem 
to  you  experienced  when  I  have  only 
theorised,  and  thought,  and  thought, 
and  thought. 

86 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

Now,  here  is  another  pet  theory  of 
mine  whose  premises  I  see  violated  on 
every  side.  Perhaps,  if  you  agree  with 
me,  it  may  help  to  clear  away  some  of 
the  driftwood  upon  the  beach  of  friend- 
ship, —  I  mean,  the  question  of  happi- 
ness. 

Is  not  that  the  highest  problem,  how 
to  make  other  people  happy  ?  It  is  the 
only  thing  that  makes  friendship  worth 
while.  If  you  make  people  happy  your 
way,  you  are  a  tyrant,  and  most  people 
are.  Substitute  your  individuality,  and 
force  your  way.  This  is  the  common 
map  of  action.  Is  not  nine-tenths  of 
so-called  love  incarnated  selfishness? 
Now  —  if  you  want  to  make  a  person 
really  happy,  do  it  in  his  way,  not  yours. 
This  discovery  is  as  old  as  Christ,  I 
imagine,  yet  when  I  made  it,  I  felt  as  if 
I  had  discovered  a  great  continent  in 
the  sea  of  life.  I  was  so  happy  when  I 
found  it  hinted  at  in  the  "  Duchess  of 
87 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

Langeais,"  where  Balzac  in  speaking  of 
France  calls  her  as  "  capricious  as  a 
woman,"  who  must  "  be  made  happy  or 
unhappy  in  her  own  way."  Let  this  be 
another  foundation  to  our  new  experi- 
ment! Am  I  too  didactic  or  prosy? 
And  are  you  not  glad  you  made  me 
think  ? 

Always  your  friend, 

LAURA. 

P.  S.  I  haven't  explained  how  I  tried 
to  be  an  angel.  It's  just  as  well,  because 
I  did  not  succeed  very  handsomely.  I 
went  over  to  a  place  here  where  some 
people  who  are  much  better  than  I  am 
work  hard  to  help  fishermen  who,  per- 
haps, may  not  be  so  very  much  worse. 
It  is  a  different  place  from  any  I  was 
ever  in  before.  They  don't  dance  there 

—  they  sing  hymns ;  and  they  don't  flirt 

—  they  pray;  and  they  don't  go  yacht- 
ing —  they  go  haddocking.    They  make 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

sober  men  of  drunkards,  and  happy  men 
of  desperate  ones,  and  they  don't  think 
it  necessary  to  have  a  good  time  always, 
as  we  do.  They  quite  perplex  me.  At 
first,  I  thought  I  would  offer  my  ser- 
vices, for  it  made  me  feel  ashamed  to 
see  all  that  unselfishness  and  all  that 
religion  cooped  up  in  that  little  place, 
and  I  not  "  in  it "  anywhere.  But  I 
didn't.  Do  you  want  to  know  why? 
I  was  afraid  to.  I  don't  think  I  am  a 
serious  enough  girl  —  yet.  I  was  afraid 
I  shouldn't  stay  put.  So  I  gave  them  a 
check,  instead  of  myself.  Mean  — 
wasn't  it? 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 


Aug.  27. 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND  :  —  Does  it  not 
seem  to  you  that  my  letters  come  to 
you  too  frequently,  and  that  you  are  a 
little  exacting?  You  are  so  strange  in 
your  expressions.  I  cannot  imagine 
myself  a  "  comfort,"  and  as  for  being  a 
"  blessing,"  such  a  possibility  surpasses 
even  my  wildest  imagination.  What 
can  a  middle-aged  man  find  of  interest 
in  a  very  young  lady  like  me  ?  If  you 
had  written  these  things  from  New 
York  they  would  have  annoyed  me, 
and  I  might  even  have  questioned  your 
sincerity.  But,  coming  from  Arizona 
and  loneliness,  I  can  try  to  understand, 
and  will  easily  forgive.  Perhaps  it 
might  be  wise  for  us  to  be  a  little 
more  impersonal  in  our  correspond- 
ence, —  for  instance : 

As  I  write  —  and  it  is  just  eleven  in 
90 


L  AU  R  I  E  L 

the  morning  —  a  thunder-storm  is  com- 
ing up  with  great  rapidity  and  fierce- 
ness. Such  storms  are  unusual  here 
before  afternoon.  The  advance  cavalry 
of  clouds  is  now  hovering  over  Mag- 
nolia. They  are  ominous  and  threaten- 
ing. What  magnificent  war  -  horses 
these  white  scuds  are !  They  prance 
and  curvet  and  chase  and  charge ! 
Only  a  little  space  behind  is  the 
ragged,  insistent  line  of  black  infantry, 
and,  further  behind,  the  spitting  artil- 
lery. Will  the  attack  be  directed  on 
Ipswich  Bay,  as  so  frequently  happens  ? 
or  will  it  project  itself  with  full  force 
on  Gloucester  Harbor? 

Now  the  coasters  and  fishermen  are 
lowering  their  sails  opposite  Magnolia, 
and  out  at  sea.  Some  of  the  larger 
vessels  near  by  have  still  time  to  run 
into  the  inner  harbor,  while  the  smaller 
sloops  are  fluttering  like  barn  swallows 
before  a  gale.  Even  now  the  on-charg- 
91 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

ing  cloud  of  cavalry  are  coursing  over 
my  head,  and  the  black  infantry  spreads 
and  threatens  irresistibly.  The  harbor 
is  windless.  The  sun  shines  brilliantly. 
Far  off  toward  Half  Way  Rock  there 
is  a  white  foam  on  the  water.  With 
the  marine  glasses,  standing  by  the 
open  window,  I  can  see  a  three-master 
under  bare  poles  careen  to  the  squall 
which  has  just  struck  her.  Now  she  is 
engulfed  in  the  bursting  of  the  clouds. 
The  storm  is  frightful  over  there,  and 
seems  to  be  gathering  force.  I  never 
saw  clouds  so  black,  so  fearful. 

How  I  wish  you  were  here !  I  am 
not  frightened,  but  I  should  like  to 
greet  the  fury  of  it  with  my  friend  near. 
You  are  so  strong  and  imperturbable. 
The  harbor  has  now  taken  on  a  feline 
expression,  such  as  I  never  saw  before. 
It  seems  crouching  for  a  spring.  The 
infantry  is  now  above  us.  Still  not  a 
breath  of  air.  How  long  will  this  sus- 
92 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

pense  last  ?  If  it  seems  insupportable 
to  me  here,  sheltered,  what  is  it  to  those 
in  the  boats  ?  They  are  busy  on  Ar- 
thur Newbury's  yacht,  putting  out  an 
extra  anchor.  There  is  a  rowboat 
right  in  the  middle  of  the  harbor. 
Two  girls  are  in  it.  They  are  strain- 
ing for  the  shore.  .  .  . 

There  !  The  storm  has  broken !  A 
white  wave  of  foam  is  rushing  over  the 
water  toward  us  with  frightful  rapidity. 
Aunt  Niobe  is  locked  in  her  room  with 
her  smelling-salts.  Ethel  is  at  the 
Newbury's.  I  cannot  stand  it  another 
minute,  shut  in  !  I  am  going  out.  The 
gale  has  struck  the  house.  Good-bye. 

3  P.M. 

The  duke  is  a  hero.  He  exercises  a 
strange  fascination  over  me.  He  re- 
minds me  a  little  of  you,  although  he 
is  so  much  younger.  I  wonder  if 
that  is  why  I  like  him  so.  He  was 
93 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

superb.  I  suppose  you  want  to  hear 
all  about  it. 

It  was  a  fearful  squall,  the  worst  they 
have  had  here  for  years.  I  could 
hardly  breast  my  way  to  the  beach.  It 
was  like  piercing  a  waterfall  advancing 
toward  you  at  fifty  miles  an  hour.  It 
seems  that  the  duke  had  seen  the  two 
girls  from  the  house  and  hurried  down. 
He  took  the  little  pilot-boat's  dory  lying 
at  her  hauling  line,  and  put  out  alone. 
What  a  splendid  thing  it  is  to  be  a 
man  !  I  could  only  stand  on  the  shore 
and  wait.  That  is  the  eternal  and  ex- 
asperating woman  of  it.  Conventions 
and  legislations  and  orations  could  not 
have  relieved  me  of  the  burden  of  my 
limitations.  There ! 

Oh,  it  was  ages  !  The  little  boat  with 
the  girls  could  not  now  be  seen  through 
the  rain.  I  knew  it  could  not  survive, 
and  it  was  only  a  question  of  muscle 
and  minutes.  It  seemed  as  if  the  duke 
94 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

had  found  rents  in  the  gale  through 
which  to  propel  the  dory.  It  did  not 
seem  possible  that  human  force  could 
gain  an  inch  in  that  hell.  Then  the 
dory  passed  out  of  sight.  I  confess,  I 
did  the  only  thing  possible  for  a  woman 
to  do ;  I  began  to  pray. 

Of  course  the  duke  saved  them. 
Otherwise  there  would  be  no  letter 
to  write.  He  headed  them  off,  drifting 
helplessly  toward  a  net  where  they 
would  have  been  inevitably  drowned. 
Just  as  he  reached  them,  their  boat 
filled.  Somehow  or  other  he  hauled 
one  after  the  other  in.  In  doing  so 
he  lost  an  oar  and  drifted  before  the 
squall,  steering  as  well  as  he  could 
toward  the  beach.  On  the  white  lips 
of  the  breakers  the  dory  shot  into  view. 
The  lightning  showed  the  man  standing 
in  the  stern.  It  was  melodrama  with  the 
lights  turned  on  and  off.  I  scrambled 
over  rocks  and  moss,  plunging  and  re- 
95 


L  AU  R  I  EL 

covering,  with  the  spray  smiting  me  like 
a  flail.  They  brought  up,  fortunately 
enough,  in  a  little  sandy  cove.  I  did 
not  know  it  at  the  time,  but  it  seems 
that  I  rushed  out  into  the  water,  waist 
deep,  and  helped  the  duke  right  the 
dory  before  it  upset.  We  picked  the 
girls  out  —  poor  little  ignorant  drowned 
rats !  and  they  are  now  sleeping  off  their 
whiskey  and  salt  water. 

Ah,  but  the  duke  was  superb!  He 
was  like  a  son  of  Neptune !  What  a 
pity  he  is  the  brother  of  a  king !  It  is 
a  great  waste  of  good  material.  He 
cannot  be  appreciated  in  Illeria.  He  is 
too  American  for  that. 

Papa  met  me  in  the  vestibule,  white 
with  anxiety.  He  had  suffered  after  he 
had  found  out  that  I  had  gone.  Dear, 
dear  Papa!  I  never  saw  such  trans- 
formation of  expression  as  when  he 
took  me  in  his  arms !  I  had  no  idea  he 
loved  me  so  much.  He  is  so  changed. 
96 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

Prosperity  has  taken  all  irascibility  away 
from  him.  You  ought  to  have  seen  the 
way  he  shook  the  cluke's  hand.  It  was 
too  touching.  Before  our  hero  went,  he 
begged  me  not  to  let  the  poor  girls 
know  who  saved  them.  They  are  to 
think  it  was  done  by  some  obscure  fish- 
erman. It  does  not  seem  to  me  that 
such  nobility  is  natural  to  those  of 
princely  blood. 

This  has  been  excitement  enough  for 
one  day,  and  I  wished  to  share  it  with 
you,  dear  friend, 

LAURA  L.  L. 


97 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 


The  last  day  of  August. 
MY  DEAR  FRIEND:  —  How  little  we 
know  the  epoch-making  moments  of 
our  lives !  How  trite  to  write,  and  still 
how  true !  I  seem  to  have  lived  months 
since  I  wrote  to  you  last.  The  photo- 
graph of  your  poor  little  boarding-house 
looks  up  at  me  from  thfc.  desk.  How 
glaring  and  desolate  !  How  bleak  !  I 
cannot  imagine  your  living  in  such  a 
place,  fit  only  for  scorpions  and  Gila 
monsters  —  if  there  are  any  in  Arizona. 
I  do  admire  your  tenacity  immensely. 
Your  devotion  to  duty,  when  the  ther- 
mometer is  115°  in  the  shade,  is  sub- 
lime. You  know  what  your  duty  is. 
Is  not  that  in  itself  the  debt  half  paid  ? 
Aunt  Niobe  is  talking  duty  to  me  all 
of  the  time.  I  cannot  explain  it  to  you. 
I  am  a  little  dazed.  But  Papa  says 
nothing.  He  knows  his  daughter  can- 
98 


L  A  U  RI  E  L 

not  disappoint  him.  I  lean  upon  you 
as  a  strong,  strong  friend,  and  yet  you 
cannot  understand. 

Did  I  tell  you  that  Arthur  Newbury's 
yacht  dragged  ashore  on  the  rocks  in 
that  awful  squall  ?  It  will  be  hauled  up 
repairing  for  at  least  ten  days.  So  he 
has  taken  the  opportunity  to  make  a 
long-delayed  visit.  Ethel  is  a  little 
lonely.  Papa  insisted  upon  the  duke's 
coming  here  in  the  meanwhile.  I  did 
not  want  him  to  come,  but  how  could  I 
refuse  in  the  face  of  Aunt  Niobe's  in- 
sistence, and  Papa's  hospitality  ?  So 
here  he  is  installed,  and  he  accepts  his 
plain  quarters  as  if  he  had  never  seen 
the  inside  of  a  palace. 

I  am  afraid  I  wrote  too  enthusiastic- 
ally about  him  in  my  last  long  screed. 
I  was  still  in  the  thrill  of  the  excite- 
ment, and  melting  in  the  glamour  that 
any  heroic  action  casts  over  a  man. 
How  easily  are  women  moved  by  the 
99 


L A  U  R I  EL 

daring  of  strength !  What  may  seem 
perfectly  natural  and  easy  to  another 
brave  man,  or  athlete,  becomes  godlike 
to  us.  That  is  the  way  the  brute  foot- 
ball hero  hypnotises  the  daintiest  of 
college  girls.  And  there  isn't  a  woman 
in  the  world  who  is  not  at  heart  a  mon- 
archist. Her  knee  is  always  ready  to 
bend,  whether  her  king  is  of  American 
or  foreign  choosing.  And  so  the  cal- 
cium light  that  illuminates  the  personal- 
ity of  a  prince  may  have  unconsciously 
blinded  me,  and  I  may  have  exaggerated 
the  value  of  the  deed  (which  any  real 
man  would  have  attempted),  partly  be- 
cause of  its  success,  and  mostly  because 
done  by  the  brother  of  a  king.  I  de- 
spise my  unrepublican  mind  for  placing 
him  in  a  niche  apart,  but  I  couldn't 
help  it. 

I  have  often  thought  of  the  delight 
of  living  in  the  middle  ages,  when  as- 
trologers fantastically  attributed  to  each 

100 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

human  being  a  guiding,  mastering  star. 
You  ate,  drank,  slept,  while  fate  took 
you  by  the  hand,  and,  under  the  leading 
of  your  star,  drew  you  to  happiness  or 
misery.  The  heavens  and  their  con- 
stellations undertook  all  responsibility 
for  you,  from  your  cradle  to  your  coffin, 
and  you  had  little  moral  obligation  for 
the  space  between.  Would  that  some 
such  happy  star  might  lead  me  now.  I 
do  not  know  whether  I  am  hurried  up 
an  ascent  or  down  a  precipice.  I 
am  breathless.  Whichever  way  I  am 
urged,  my  whole  soul  revolts  from  play- 
ing all  my  life  the  contemptible  part  of 
a  woman  of  society.  You  surely,  my 
dear  friend,  understand  me  in  this ;  you 
who  have  expanded  my  ideals,  just  as 
proper  breathing  expands  the  chest. 

In  your  last  letter  you  urge  me  to 
live  above  the  earth,  in  that  crystal  ether 
where  the  sun  shines  undeflected  by 
dust,  and  unglinted  by  any  impurity. 

101 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

You  do  not  understand  how  easy  it 
is  to  parachute  gently  to  the  ground 
through  all  the  pernicious  usages  of 
society  and  custom,  without  breaking 
the  bones  of  the  decalogue.  I  have  sat 
straight  in  my  chair,  looking  neither  to 
the  right  nor  to  the  left,  while  women 
who  are  held  as  ladies,  respectable  and 
respected,  have  made  my  ears  tingle 
with  their  talk.  Drink  and  dress, 
scramble  and  gossip !  Ugh !  If  ever  I 
marry,  it  will  be  with  the  stipulation  of 
Goethe's  mother  that  "no  gossip  is  to 
be  repeated."  And  if  this  is  becoming 
the  reproach  of  our  American  society, 
what  must  the  condition  be  among  the 
petty  intrigues  of  foreign  courts ! 

We  may  go  to  Newport  any  day 
now.  Father  has  promised  to  be  there 
during  the  races.  He  has  rented  a 
house  for  a  month  at  some  foolish 
price,  and  is  determined  to  put  me  on 
exhibition.  Ah  me !  I  hope  the  dear 

102 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

man  will  not  be  disappointed.  Aunt 
Niobe  has  me  fitted  every  half-hour 
for  a  dress.  It  is  just  like  golf  —  a 
tournament  (torment)  every  fifteen  min- 
utes. How  do  you  like  me  best  —  a 
sunburst  of  glory,  or  a  simple  Cape  Ann 
rose,  as  you  once  so  prettily  called  me  ? 
Never  mind,  I'll  dazzle  you  yet,  you 
placid  man. 

Answer   me    this    riddle,    How  shall 
I  spell  duty? 

As  always, 

LAURA  L.  L. 


103 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 


Sept.  ist,  1899. 

DEAR  FRIEND  :  —  Papa  and  our  guest 
left  for  Newport  yesterday  in  the  run- 
away. They  expect  to  make  the 
"  record  "  from  Boston,  and  we  follow 
to-morrow  or  next  day.  As  I  shall  not 
have  a  moment  again  to  myself,  I  am 
hurrying  this  off  to  you.  Ethel  and 
Aunt  Niobe  are  wild  at  the  prospect. 
I  am  saying  good-bye  to  my  dear  rose- 
bush, the  cleft  in  the  rock  where  I  have 
sat  alone  so  many  times  undiscovered 
except  by  the  fellow-feeling  sea,  and 
dear  old  Mother  Ann.  We  have  had 
gay  times  here,  but  there  has  always 
been  an  undercurrent  of  simplicity  and 
freedom.  This  will  be  my  first  launch- 
ing into  society,  and  as  my  mother's 
cousins  are  the  Van  Peters,  I  shall  be 
in  the  swim  as  soon  as  I  enter  the 
Casino.  Nevertheless,  Papa's  senseless 
104 


LA  URIEL 

wealth  is  the  real  Aladdin's  lamp.  I 
will  let  you  know  my  first  impressions. 
They  will  probably  amuse  you.  I  dread 
what  I  know  is  before  me.  The  roses 
are  late  here  this  year,  and  I  kiss  each 
one  good-bye.  I  feel  that  during  the 
next  few  weeks  the  verdict  will  be  ren- 
dered on  my  future,  and  I  quake  for 
the  judgment.  Will  it  be  guilty  or  not 
guilty  —  imprisonment  or  pardon  ?  I 
seem  to  be  slipping  even  from  you. 
Good-bye. 

LAURA. 

Address    "  Aqua    Marine,    Newport, 
R.  I." 


105 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 


"  AQUA  MARINE,"  NEWPORT. 

Sunday  P.M.,  Sept.  10. 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND  :  —  At  last  New- 
port! Longed-for,  dreaded  Newport! 
Insolent,  presumptuous,  and  jilting 
though  she  may  be,  she  is  buoyant 
and  full  of  the  joy  of  life.  The  house, 
or,  rather,  the  castle  that  papa  rented, 
is  one  of  those  inappropriate  mon- 
strosities liable  to  be  found  at  this  re- 
sort. It  is  a  cross  between  a  Rhine 
chateau  and  a  county  prison.  To 
make  it  even  tolerable  would  require 
fifty  acres  of  park  and  the  moon  hid- 
den behind  the  clouds.  As  it  is,  it 
occupies  barely  a  half  an  acre,  and  its 
lack  of  privacy  is  as  glaring  as  its 
design.  "  Aqua  Marine  "  was  built  by 
a  Western  millionaire  who  determined 
to  force  his  wife  and  daughters  into 
the  most  exclusive  circles.  Fortunately 
1 06 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

for  them  the  hope  failed,  and  they 
occupied  the  "  cottage,"  that  would 
make  even  a  Viking  laugh,  for  only 
one  short  season.  It  is  to  be  pre- 
sumed that  they  are  now  lording  it  at 
Narragansett,  or  ruling  at  Coney  Island. 
And  yet  —  what  can  I  say?  Here  we 
are  occupying  this  bogus  castle  with 
precisely  the  same  motives  and  under 
like  ambitions.  Is  this  kettle  more 
polished  than  their  pot  ? 

Of  course  we  went  to  the  hop  at  the 
Casino  Saturday  night.  It  was  my 
debut,  so  to  speak,  although  girls  as 
old  as  I  am  have  had  years  of  experi- 
ence, and  are  now  decidedly  blase. 
Taken  as  a  spectacle,  —  I  had  almost 
added  pure  and  simple,  —  the  scene 
was  picturesque  in  the  extreme.  Im- 
agine galleries  gay  with  lanterns  and 
ladies,  and  moonlit  lawns  silent  with 
a  velvet-footed  throng  entranced  by  the 
lilt  of  the  Hungarian  music.  As  al- 
107 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

ways,  the  bracing  air  of  the  sea  seems 
to  add  the  fibre  and  the  tone  that 
the  touch  of  society  takes  away.  I 
wonder  if  that  is  the  secret  why  New- 
port has  always  kept  her  equilibrium 
through  so  many  changes. 

Yes,  I  danced  and  danced  until  I 
could  neither  stand  nor  breathe.  The 
men !  For  the  most  part  pasty  mani- 
kins, or  experienced  boys,  who  trip 
the  two-step  with  monotonous  exact- 
ness, and  guide  their  partners  with 
skill  and  a  bored  face.  Indeed,  my  first 
impression  was  that  the  limit  of  the 
manliness  about  me  was  in  the  dexter- 
ity with  which  men  walked  without 
ruining  dresses,  and  the  alertness  with 
which  they  accepted  any  new  figures 
in  the  cotillon. 

The   youth   who  led   the  German  I 

must  tell  you    about.     I    have   already 

heard    in    these   few   days  a   hundred 

stories   about   him.     He   seems   to   be 

1 08 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

the  hero  of  the  "smart"  set.  What 
a  travesty  on  the  word  smart!  It  is 
in  reality  deadly  dull,  as  you  can  see 
by  the  wearied  face  of  every  woman  in 
it,  and  as  stupid  as  a  thousand  owls. 
Slang  takes  the  place  of  originality, 
and  intoxication,  as  far  as  I  can  see,  of 
real  pleasure.  Conversation  is  a  reci- 
tation of  risque  stories,  and  repar- 
tee a  medley  of  impertinence.  What 
can  you  expect  where  cards  take  the 
place  of  culture,  and  ignorance  of 
everything  but  a  girl's  dowry  and  a 
man's  bank  account  is  held  to  be  a 
sure  passport  into  the  Yacht  Club  ? 
This  Tom  Covert  is  the  son  of  a 
maker  of  lawn-mowers  of  small  fortune. 
He  came  from  that  town  —  I  forget 
the  name  —  where  it  is  always  raining 
when  you  pass  by  in  the  cars.  Like 
all  ambitious  young  men,  he  landed  in 
New  York  before  the  down  was  off  his 
face,  and  began  to  look  for  a  place  that 
109 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

would  yield  him  unfettered  time  with  a 
generous  income.  Being  accomplished 
in  dancing  and  impertinence,  a  large 
firm  of  importance,  seeing  success  writ- 
ten on  his  unabashed  cheek,  made  him 
a  special  agent,  and  turned  him  loose 
with  ample  introductions  among  the 
four  hundred.  In  less  than  a  year 
he  had  achieved  a  national  reputation 
by  persuading  a  rich  and  beautiful  lady 
to  drive  a  vegetable  cart  from  door  to 
door.  This  horse-play  seemed  to  the 
jaded  minds  of  the  fast  set  so  de- 
cidedly original,  that  the  young  man 
was  immediately  promoted  to  a  new 
position,  such  as  he  may  be  said  to 
have  created  for  himself,  —  a  combina- 
tion of  mentor,  private  secretary,  and 
ring-master  for  fashionable  ladies.  It 
was  at  that  time  that  he  made  the 
famous  remark  that  it  was  just  as  easy 
to  love  a  woman  with  ten  millions  as 
ten  thousand,  and  easier  to  marry  her. 
no 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

In  order  to  assure  his  grip  on  the 
monkey-puzzle  trunk  of  fortune  he  be- 
came the  self-assumed  critic  of  every 
woman's  dress,  and  his  decisions  are 
held  to  be  final  if  not  fatal.  Only 
last  summer  he  crowned  his  brilliant 
achievements  by  stationing  himself  in 
front  of  the  Casino  with  a  lady,  an  Ital- 
ian hand-organ  of  large  calibre,  and  a 
monkey.  The  lady  twirled  the  tambou- 
rine and  danced.  This  was  considered 
such  a  stupendous  test  of  greatness  that 
his  engagement  with  a  beautiful  heiress 
was  immediately  announced. 

At  this  time  nothing  can  withstand 
his  audacity.  When  men  are  play- 
ing golf,  yachting,  or  breaking  their 
necks  at  polo,  he  is  the  great  expert 
on  cat's-cradle  and  the  wording  of  in- 
vitations. 

It  was  after  supper  that  my  turn  to  be 
distinguished  by  his  august  notice  came. 
Forgetting  that  I  was  not  yet  under  the 
in 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

Newport  curb,  he  began  to  pursue  the 
same  tactics  with  me  that  have  rendered 
him  a  dreaded  necessity  to  the  ladies 
about  us.  Accustomed  to  conquer 
through  impertinence,  he  began,  with 
the  drawling,  affected  voice  that  always 
characterises  the  favourite  of  women  : 

"  Ah,  Miss  Livingstone,  I  am  de- 
lighted to  meet  so  beautiful  an  addi- 
tion to  our  set,  don't  you  know."  He 
stopped,  took  a  step  back,  and  surveyed 
me  from  aigrette  to  shoes  with  cool  crit- 
icism. "  Very  effective  —  unusual  sim- 
plicity—  white  muslin  and  pearls.  If 
the  neck  were  cut  a  trifle  lower,  and  you 
added  a  line  of  ermine  down  the  front 
—  it  would  be  perfect." 

By  this  time  there  was  quite  a  crowd 
about  us.  Aunt  Niobe  was  on  one 
side,  and  as  it  happened,  the  duke  on 
the  other;  about  us  the  ladies  smiled 
approval  at  the  great  man's  dictum, 
while  the  men  tried  to  hide  amusement 

112 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

behind  serious  moustaches.  The  spirit 
of  rebellion  rose  to  my  throat  at 
what  I  considered  an  unwarrantable 
insult. 

"  Duke,"  I  said,  "  have  you  ten  dollars 
about  you  ?  "    He  laughed,  and  instantly 
thrust  some  bills  into  my  fingers. 
»     "  Thank    you,    Mr.    Covert,"    I    said, 
"  please  take  this." 

Before  he  knew  what  he  was  doing, 
his  hand  had  closed  over  the  bills.  "  I 
thought,"  I  continued,  in  my  softest 
voice,  "  that  your  business  was  in  wine, 
but  as  it  seems  to  be  shifted  to  dress- 
making, I  will  settle  now  for  your  pro- 
fessional advice,  as  I  do  .not  care  to  have 
any  outstanding  bills.  As  I  am  not 
accustomed  to  talk  with  tradespeople 
at  social  functions,  I  bid  you  good 
evening." 

Too  stunned  to  remember  that  the 
bills  were  yet  in  his  hand,  the  arbiter  of 
fashion  stood  as  if  smitten  by  lightning. 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

About  him  the  ladies  paled  at  the  un- 
paralleled audacity.  But  my  back  was 
already  turned,  and  I  did  not  see  the 
retreat.  Papa  came  up,  and  thanking 
the  duke  for  his  protection,  insisted 
upon  reimbursing  him  later.  Aunt 
Niobe  was  in  despair  because  I  had 
cut  the  bridge  to  social  success  from, 
under  my  own  feet.  But  she  perked 
up  a  little  when  a  procession  of  men 
insisted  upon  being  presented.  The 
Duke  whispered  something  to  me  later. 
I  did  not  catch  the  words,  and  simply 
nodded. 

What  a  life !  What  a  struggle  !  How 
little  it  all  means !  Papa  had  a  long 
talk  with  me  about  my  future.  I  can- 
not tell  you  what  he  said.  I  am  so  tired 
already,  and  wish  myself  back  in 
Orange. 

But   Ethel   is   in  a  whirlwind  of  de- 
light.     At    least,    she    is    thoroughly 
happy.     She   can   choose   her  fortune 
114 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

for  herself,  and  I  begin  to  suspect  what 
the  choice  will  be  — 

Your  true  friend, 

LAURA. 

P.  S.  Those  ten  dollars  were  returned 
to  me  by  mail  in  a  blank  sheet  of  note- 
paper. 


"5 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 


Sept.  1 8. 

MY  DEAR  MR.  STRONG  :  —  I  cannot 
understand  why  your  last  letter  had  so 
much  about  your  faith  in  me.  As  if  it 
were  impossible  for  me  to  disappoint 
you?  Faith  is  indeed  friendship's 
creed,  and  without  it  life  would  be  as 
bitter  as  a  draught  from  a  cup  of  quassia. 
I  am  grateful  that  you  do  not  give  me 
advice,  but  that  you  appeal  entirely  to 
that  trust  in  myself  —  that  which  is  the 
final  safeguard  to  any  woman  in  the 
supreme  moment  of  decision. 

Do  you  think  I  am  for  an  instant 
tempted  by  the  life  around  me  ?  I 
wonder  if  it  is  generations  of  noble  fore- 
mothers  which  enables  me  to  perceive 
a  precipitous  heart  of  granite  beneath 
graciously  dimpling  smiles,  and  a  nature 
masked  by  a  compliment  on  my  dexter- 
ity in  running  Papa's  new  motor  car- 
116 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

riage.  Women  adore  new  sensations. 
We  like  to  snatch  off  masks,  we  revel 
in  the  process  of  gratifying  curiosity, 
even  though  we  know  that  the  wood 
will  be  of  less  value  than  the  veneer. 
This  is  why  I  enjoy  myself  every  mo- 
ment, though  I  despise  the  play. 

Can  a  sacrifice  be  made  at  an  ex- 
pense of  our  ideals  ?  I  think  not.  Or  at 
the  cost  of  our  faith  in  ourselves  ?  Per- 
haps so.  But  not,  I  hope,  at  the  cost 
of  our  friend's  faith  in  us.  A  friend 
should  intuitively  know  the  difficulties 
and  problems  that  assail  the  woman  in 
the  compact.  He  should  divine  the 
reasons  of  her  indecision,  even  though 
he  may  not  agree  with  their  necessity. 

My  friend,  I  cannot  tell  now  what  the 
future  may  bring-forth,  but  if  it  should 
happen  that  circumstances  deny  to  us 
the  free  expression  of  the  joy  of  the 
camaraderie  that  has  been  ours  only  for 
a  little  while,  remember  that  the  privi- 
117 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

lege  of  being  your  friend  will  always  be 
the  lamp  that  guided  my  feet  across  the 
threshold  of  girlhood  into  the  mansion 
of  womanhood. 

A  beautiful  surprise  was  given  me 
yesterday.  The  Order  of  Emanuel  was 
conferred  upon  me  by  the  King  of 
Illeria,  and  formally  presented  by  the 
duke.  I  wish  you  could  see  it  spark- 
ling at  my  throat.  The  duke  is  wait- 
ing for  me  below  to  take  me  to  the 
golf  club  (or  rather  I  him),  and  Aunt 
Niobe  is  a  little  pestiferous.  So  I  must 
hurry. 

Good-bye,  and  don't  forget  me. 

LAURA. 


118 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 


Sept.  27. 

MR.  ROYAL  STRONG, 

My  dear  Sir: —  It  seems  to  me  that 
no  theories  of  friendship,  no  matter  how 
broad,  could  bound  your  letter  of  cau- 
tion and  advice  just  received.  I  am  so 
angry  at  Ethel  for  what  she  evidently 
wrote  you,  that  I  have  not  dared  to  see 
her  this  morning,  lest  I  forget  the  host- 
ess in  my  indignation.  She  will  not 
be  with  us  long  to  inform  you  of  my 
purposes.  Papa  has  engaged  state- 
rooms on  the  Victoria  Regina,  and  we 
sail  a  week  from  next  Saturday.  This 
has  been  a  sudden  move,  but  I  have 
finally  consented  to  the  arrangement. 
There  is  nothing  else  to  be  done. 

Oh,  my  friend  !   How  could  you  think 

such  an  unworthy,  cruel  thing  of  me? 

How  could  you  say  it?     Is  thy  friend 

not  a  lady  ?     Do  you  think  I  would  sell 

119 


L  AU  RI  E  L 

myself  for  all  the  gold  in  creation  or 
kingdoms  of  the  world  ?  I  am  proud  of 
being  Duke  Constantine's  friend.  He 
is  a  man,  understanding  a  woman's 
moods,  sympathetic,  and,  I  believe,  ten- 
der. Why  should  I  not  marry  him  ? 
Must  a  woman  always  premise  marriage 
with  overwhelming  love?  And  is  not 
respect  a  firm  foundation  for  a  life's 
partnership  ? 

Besides,  many  considerations  for  a 
girl's  choice  of  a  husband  must  come 
into  play.  If  she  consult  her  heart 
always,  which  at  best  may  be  an  erring 
monitor,  she  might  possibly  plunge  her 
family  into  great  disappointment  and 
misery.  Besides  again,  Laura  has  not 
yet  promised  to  marry  any  one,  and 
all  this  hue  and  cry  is  therefore  in 
vain. 

I  need  your  strength,  not  your  advice. 
A  mountain  has  its  shoulders  ever  ready 
for  a  poor,  tired,  distracted  head.  It 

120 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

points  silently  to  the  stars,  even  if  the 
feet  are  too  weary  to  climb. 

Even  as  I  write,  the  mood  of  savage 
resentment  has  fled,  and  in  its  place  I 
can  hear  the  notes  of  a  beautiful  re- 
quiem. For  whom  is  the  stately  dirge  ? 
Requiem  for  what?  Friendship? 
Whatever  it  may  be,  it  is  a  symphony 
to  Loss,  —  and  I,  my  friend,  am  the 
loser,  —  and  the  orchestra  plays  for  me 
alone.  You  have  taught  me  many 
things  —  and  the  first  of  these  is  "  Sim- 
plify !  " 

This  I  shall  proceed  shortly  to  do. 
Good-bye  again, 

LAURA. 


121 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 


TELEGRAM 

October  2,  1899. 
To  MR.  ROYAL  STRONG, 

Tucson,  Arizona. 

Telegram   received.     Do   not  come. 
I  could  not  bear  it.     May  be  too  late. 
LAURA  L.  LIVINGSTONE. 


122 


L AU  R I E  L 


On  board  the  Victoria  Regina, 
Sunday,  Oct.  8. 

You  MAN  YOU  !  —  How  did  you  dare  ? 
And  yet,  if  you  had  not  come  just  as 
and  when  you  did,  it  would  not  have 
been  you.  I  am  still  dazed.  I  can 
dream  of  nothing  else.  I  look  up  every 
moment  expecting  you  to  enter.  It 
would  not  surprise  me.  I  feel  that  you 
could  easily  overtake  the  Regina  and 
do  anything.  I,  who  fancied  I  had  a 
will,  was  yours  to  command.  It  was 
terrible.  It  was  wonderful. 

You  were  so  calm,  so  sure,  so  in- 
sistent. And  you  were  so  reasonable 
and  so  wise.  Did  I  know  my  own 
heart?  No.  In  the  name  of  woman- 
hood, could  I  commit  the  sacrilege  of 
giving  my  hand  without  my  whole 
heart,  simply  for  the  sake  of  gratify- 
ing a  vulgar  family  ambition  ?  A  thou- 
123 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

sand  times  no !  And  yet,  you  man 
you !  you  opened  my  eyes. 

How  easy  it  is  to  be  confused  and 
to  be  dazed  —  to  blind  ourselves.  I 
thought  I  was  doing  a  noble  thing. 
I  do  like  the  duke  immensely,  and  was 
more  flattered  than  I  knew  by  his  love 
for  me,  which  I  believe  is  disinterested. 
I  had  forgotten  that  my  duty  to  myself 
was  greater  than  that  to  my  father  or 
my  aunt.  Just  before  you  came  my 
conscience  made  him  the  whole  of  my 
horizon.  But  the  minute  you  stepped 
into  the  room  my  errant  guide  gave 
me  the  truer  order,  and  the  veil  slipped 
from  my  eyes.  You  were  so  big  and 
strong  and  masterful  and  sure.  I  am 
so  sorry  the  duke  did  not  see  you.  He 
would  have  met  a  man  after  his  own 
heart. 

It  was  so  swiftly  said  and  done,  and 
you  were  gone.  Only  two  hours !  Why 
did  I  promise  you  to  engage  myself  to 
124 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

no  one  for  the  next  six  months  ?  Do 
you  want  to  save  me  from  the  vulgar 
fate  of  so  many  American  heiresses  ? 
or  did  you  want  me  to  know  myself? 
And  I  gave  you  my  promise  as  meek 
as  a  lamb,  while  the  distinguished  gen- 
tleman was  playing  billiards  with  Papa, 
expecting  to  claim  me  as  his  own  in 
half  an  hour.  Truly  you  arrived  on 
time. 

Why  didn't  you  ask  me  to  give  up 
my  European  trip  ?  You  might  have 
just  as  well.  I  would  have  promised 
you  almost  anything,  you  cyclone  of 
life !  I  shall  never  forgive  you  for  not 
seeing  me  off  on  the  boat.  Any  other 
man  would.  You  are  so  different,  and 
apart.  You  trust  me  so  utterly  that  I 
am  beginning  to  retrust  myself. 

He  was  very  manly  about  it.  He 
did  not  rave  or  protest.  "  When  may  I 
speak  again  ?  "  he  asked,  pleasantly,  con- 
cealing his  suffering.  Was  it  his  heart 
125 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

or  pride,  or  both,  that  controlled  him 
so  ?  He  stood  where  you  did.  How 
you  overtowered  him  !  He  never  looked 
so  small  before.  I  was  sorry  for  him, 
and  glad  you  came. 

"  In  six  months,"  I  said,  taking  his 
hand,  "but  perhaps  better  not  at 
all." 

That  fatal  "  perhaps ! "  Ah,  we  women 
have  little  or  no  decision  when  it  comes 
to  men.  We  let  them  down  too  easily 
with  a  "perhaps"  or  "I  don't  think  I 
had  better,"  or  "  I  am  afraid  not,"  when 
a  plain  "  no  "  would  simplify  the  future. 
They  cling  to  the  false  hope  that  the 
soft  heart  gives,  and  the  citadel  is 
stormed  through  irresolution  and  weak- 
ness. He  brightened  at  my  "  perhaps  " 
and  —  we  are  very  good  friends.  You 
will  forgive  me,  but  it  takes  time  to 
learn,  and  I  am  so  young. 

You  know  Aunt  Niobe.  She  has 
not  been  out  of  her  stateroom,  and  I 
126 


L  AU  R  I  E  L 

have  only  poked  my  head  in  to  bid  her 
good  morning  and  good  night.  She  is 
now  an  early  Christian  martyr.  I  dare 
not  imagine  how  many  handkerchiefs 
and  pink  pills  she  has  used  up  since 
you  came,  and  the  lines  of  her  face 
are  streaks  of  reproach.  Her  future  is 
blasted,  and  life  is  henceforth  one  ama- 
ranthine gloom.  I  am  the  culprit,  and 
she  does  not  let  me  forget  it,  either. 
So  you  will  have  to  be  very  good  to  me 
to  make  up  for  all  the  misery  you  have 
caused. 

Ah,  but  you  have  been  a  good  friend 
—  a  royal  friend.  You  have  made  me 
clear-eyed.  I  am  never  so  happy  as 
standing,  clinging  to  the  davits  of  the 
great  bow  anchor,  facing  ahead.  How 
I  feared  the  future  only  a  few  hours 
ago  !  Now  it  seems  clear  and  kind.  I 
have  seen  men  throw  their  heads  up 
and  back,  like  horses  rejoicing  in  their 
strength.  I  never  understood  such  mas- 
127 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

tery  of  freedom  before.  The  cry  for 
more  horizon  is  as  insistent  as  the  wail 
for  more  light;  the  one  is  born  from 
the  heart  —  the  other  from  the  intellect, 
is  it  not  ? 

Papa  is  fine.  "  Give  the  girl  her 
head,"  he  said  to  Aunt  Niobe,  "  and 
do  not  cross  her."  So  Papa  and  the 
duke  stalk  the  deck,  smoking  like  fun- 
nels, while  I  open  my  mouth  and  inhale 
freedom  —  great  draughts.  Europe  and 
Illeria  are  so  near.  Why  not  sail  this 
way  for  ever ! 

Adieu !  You  are  one  of  two  who 
really  know  me,  Don't  scowl !  I  am 
the  other ;  at  least,  I  think  I  am. 

Your  intuition  worries  me  not  a  little. 
Is  it  the  science  of  friendship  developed 
to  the  highest  art  by  practice  ?  Or  is 
it  because  I  am  transparent  to  your 
Roentgen  eyes  ?  Others  haven't  found 
me  so.  I  do  not  dare  to  have 
dark  corners,  because  I  know  you 
128 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

would  penetrate  them  with  your  search- 
light. 

I   wish  you  were  on  board  —  some- 
times. Always  the  same, 

LAURA. 


129 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 


LEGATION  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES, 

TANIA,  ILLERIA,  Oct.  17. 
You  DEAR  OLD  FRIEND  : — How  im- 
penetrable the  surface  of  a  woman's 
heart !  We  had  not  been  in  the  Grand 
Hotel  in  Naples  for  two  hours  be- 
fore a  steamer  bound  for  Tania  was 
announced  to  sail  almost  immediately. 
Like  Naples,  our  flight  beggars  descrip- 
tion. We  sped  like  fugitives  from  jus- 
tice —  while  in  reality  it  was  I  who  was 
hurrying  from  disappointment  to  hope. 
My  impatience  to  reach  this  molecular 
capital  of  a  duodecimo  kingdom  caused 
a  revulsion  of  feeling  in  our  little  party. 
Aunt  Niobe  smiled  and  put  her  hand- 
kerchief in  her  pocket.  Papa  cast  upon 
me  the  calm  look  of  a  strategic  general, 
while  the  grand  duke,  who  has  rather 
too  chivalrously  avoided  me,  paid  me 
the  attention  of  a  brother  restored  to 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

favour.  Could  you,  my  friend,  guess  the 
reason  of  my  haste  ?  Somehow  I  feel 
at  home  in  the  kingdom  of  the  enemy. 

My  letter,  via  Ostend,  awaited  me  on 
the  dressing-table  in  my  beautiful  room. 
You  are  never  disappointing,  and  that 
is  saying  much  of  any  man.  You  know 
just  how  and  when  to  do.  You  come 
nearer  than  any  man  I  have  ever  known 
to  Carlyle's  definition  of  a  king,  as  "  the 
man  who  can."  I  wonder  if  it  is  a 
blessing  or  a  curse  to  have  a  photo- 
graphic mind,  for  I  remember  every 
word  you  wrote,  and  some  I  am  trying 
to  forget.  You  must  make  it  easy  for 
me  to  throw  my  whole  heart  into  the 
beautiful  life  that  opens  before  me.  I 
shall  be  so  happy  here.  I  know  I  shall, 
and  I  want  you  to  help  me  to  be  so,  and 
I  will  tell  you  all  about  it. 

Do  you  know,  this  country  seems 
almost  an  impertinence.  It  is  a  re- 
spectable golf  course.  It  is  a  piece  of 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

jewelry.  Illeria  is  the  setting,  and 
Tania  the  gem.  Arizona  could  wear 
the  thing  in  her  watch-chain  and  not 
feel  the  weight  of  it.  A  few  mountains 
and  defiles,  —  a  furlong  or  two  of  vine- 
yards, and  a  mile  or  so  of  sea-coast,  a 
wonderful  sapphire  sky,  —  that  is  all. 
Add  to  this  innumerable  ruins  falling 
beneath  the  desecrating  and  iconoclas- 
tic pick  of  the  archaeologist,  and  a  peo- 
ple that  neither  knows  its  own  ancestors 
nor  has  produced  its  own  ruler  —  such 
is  the  eighteenth  kingdom  in  the  world. 
It  ought  to  be  transported  bodily  and 
made  a  permanent  feature  of  the  Buffalo 
Fair.  Any  wide-awake  firm  of  con- 
tractors could  do  it  in  six  months. 

My  uncle,  Mr.  Cornelius  Van  Reuter, 
the  minister,  and  Aunt  Lucy,  his  wife, 
are  hospitable  in  the  extreme,  and  lovely 
to  me.  My  wardrobe  is  already  the 
especial  care  of  Aunt  Lucy,  who  pre- 
sages from  it  countless  triumphs. 
132 


L AU  R I  EL 

There  is  an  American  as  well  as 
French  school  of  archaeology  here, 
which,  with  different  legations,  make 
up  the  majority  of  the  foreign  element. 
We  are  going  to  be  here  nearly  six 
months,  and  Papa  leaves  for  Egypt  in 
a  few  days.  I  shall  be  the  only  young 
lady  in  our  official  circle,  and  with  the 
favour  of  the  king,  whom  I  have  not  yet 
seen,  shall  have  a  brilliant  winter. 

Do  not  fear  for  me,  dear  friend.  I 
did  not  discover  Sirius  until  you  pointed 
the  great  sun  out.  The  Dog  Star  will 
watch  for  me  faithfully.  Will  not  this 
gorgeous  and  perhaps  unique  experience 
show  me  life  in  its  true  proportions  ? 

I  would  rather  live  in  a  bark  tepee 
on  a  beautiful  plain  with  the  man  I  love, 
than  fritter  my  soul  away  in  dazzling 
the  lower  classes.  To  have  learned 
that  value,  is  sufficient  reward  for  your 
friendship,  sir.  There  !  Does  that  ad- 
mission satisfy  your  vanity  ? 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

Do  not  be  afraid  to  send  me  admoni- 
tion. I  hate  that  word  "  advice."  For 
I  shall  be  frivolous,  and  I  shall  be 
happy.  Already,  everybody  is  so  good 
to  me,  and  invitations  are  falling  like 
leaves  in  autumn.  The  king  has  given 
uncle  a  special  invitation  to  bring  me 
to  a  strictly  family  luncheon  to-morrow, 
when  I  am  to  be  presented  to  the  queen. 
Shall  I  tell  you  about  it,  or  will  your 
tense  democratic  spirit  revolt  from  such 
foolish  confidences  of  royal  favour,  and 
will  you  rebuke  me  for  my  vanity? 
Sometimes  I  wish  you  were  gayer,  but 
then  I  should  pay  no  attention  to 
you  at  all.  No,  I  like  you  best  just 
as  you  are,  —  strong,  fearless,  and  ex- 
pedient. 

Write  as  often  as  you  can  to  your 
friend.  She  is  far  away  from  home, 
and  wishes  she  could  see  the  red  face 
of  Washington.  It  would  be  worth 
more  than  two  cents  to  her  now.  It 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

must  carry  an  American  blessing  and 
a  whisper  of  God's  own  country.  I  am 
lonely,  but  very  happy. 

Always  your  friend, 

LAURA  L.  L. 


135 


L  A  U  R  I  K  L 


Oct.  22. 

DEAR  ROYAL:  —  I  suppose  I  might 
as  well,  since  you  ask  it  with  so  much 
vigour.  Don't  you  think  you  are  a 
little  strenuous  at  times  ?  I  don't  know 
whether  I  like  it  or  not,  but  you  are  so 
far  away,  and  in  such  a  dreary  place, 
and  working  so  hard,  and  are  so  lonely, 
that  if  such  a  little  thing  will  please  you 
it  is  yours.  Somehow  I  have  always 
held  myself  aloof,  even  in  my  college 
days,  from  the  familiarity  that  the  in- 
discriminate use  of  the  first  name 
implies.  I  have  allowed  no  man  such 
a  privilege  as  to  call  me  Laura  before. 
So,  as  far  as  the  name  goes,  it  is  all 
yours,  and  you  may  call  me  that  if  you 
please.  One  day  Arthur  Newbury  called 
me  "  Laura."  But  he  never  did  it  again. 
Oh,  yes,  the  gentleman  did  apologise, 
136 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

but  he  flaunted  "  Ethel "  at  me  to  pay 
for  it.  From  that  moment  the  atmos- 
phere changed.  Perhaps  your  sister 
may  soon  be  in  a  position  to  accept 
congratulations.  I  wish  she  were  here. 
She  would  be  far  more  popular  than  I 
ever  dream  of  being.  She  is  such  naive 
and  good  company. 

So  it  is  a  privilege  not  lightly  be- 
stowed. You  may  coin  me  into  "  Lau- 
riel"  and  I  will  call  you  "Royal,"  if 
you  wish.  Frankly,  I  could  not  choose 
a  better  title  for  my  friend. 

The  two  windows  of  my  room  are 
south  and  west.  I  see  the  Liliputian 
city  with  its  whitewashed  buildings  and 
its  market-place,  and,  beyond,  the  sea 
and  the  range  of  hills,  the  nearest  of 
which  is  called  Olympus,  and  has 
crowning  its  peak  the  white  vertebras 
of  a  pagan  temple.  As  the  Jews  in 
the  captivity  in  Babylon  turned  often 
to  the  west  to  pray  toward  Jerusalem, 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

so  this  homesick  girl  turns  to  the  hills 
for  blessing. 

I  have  set  up  my  writing-desk  in  this 
western  window,  and  watch  the  sun 
glorify  the  columns  of  the  Temple  of 
Venus  until  at  setting  it  kindles  a  fire 
within,  as  if  upon  an  altar  to  a  Burning 
Heart.  So  you  see  at  the  south  I  watch 
the  mail  steamers  in,  and  at  the  west  I 
release  my  thoughts. 

Ah,  my  friend,  you  little  know  a  girl's 
heart.  Her  vague  fancies  and  phos- 
phorescent dreams  are  stimulated  by 
colour  and  poetry  and  symphonies  and 
form.  Her  heart  is  continually  crav- 
ing. It  is  empty  and  must  feed.  If 
she  has  no  star  outside  her  own  hori- 
zon, no  friendship,  no  love,  she  taps  her 
own  veins  and  drinks  her  heart's  blood 
in  a  suicide  of  vanity. 

The  fervid  quest  for  admiration,  the 
madness  to  outshine,  to  be  the  centre 
of  a  hundred  men,  to  wear  the  most 
'38 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

glittering  baubles,  and  to  queen  it  in 
her  microscopic  circle,  —  this  may  be 
the  starving  of  an  unnourished  heart. 

I  have  been  here  a  little  more  than 
a  week,  and  I  am  not  so  happy  as  I 
thought  I  was  going  to  be.  I  do  not 
know  what  is  the  matter.  I  ought  to 
be  the  happiest,  proudest  girl  in  the 
world.  The  attention  the  king  and 
queen  and  royal  family  paid  to  me  is 
enough  to  turn  any  girl's  head.  It  was 
so  genuine  and  human.  The  artillery 
officers  are  getting  up  a  ball  in  hon- 
our of  "  La -Belle  Americaine  "  (There  ! 
aren't  you  proud  of  your  friend  ?)  and 
the  crown  prince  has  chosen  me  as 
partner  in  the  next  golf  tournament. 
Somehow  I  don't  feel  as  inflated  as  I 
might,  although  I  assure  you  I  am  very 
happy. 

Shall  I  describe  to  you  my  palace 
lunch  ?  How  can  I,  sitting  beside  the 
picture  of  your  little  shack?  I  wonder 


L  A  U  RI  E  L 

if  you  know  where  I  would  choose  to 
lunch  this  day,  if  the  fairy  godmother 
granted  me  the  wish  ?  Not  at  the  pal- 
ace, although  it  was  beautiful.  Your 
description  of  the  wonderful  mine,  with 
its  depth  and  blackness,  its  horror  and 
its  treasure,  left  me  trembling  for  your 
safety.  Let  this  lunch  be  my  exchange 
of  light  for  your  darkness,  and  may  it 
relieve  the  monotony  of  your  landlady's 
board. 

I  wore  a  black  dress  trimmed  with 
rose,  with  only  my  nugget  at  the  throat, 
and  a  bracelet  of  pearls.  We  arrived  at 
one,  promptly,  and  were  asked  up-stairs 
through  an  innumerable  suite  of  rooms 
until  we  came  to  the  queen's  private 
apartments.  The  crown  prince's  oldest 
boy  and  the  king's  youngest  son  came 
out  to  meet  us.  Prince  George  is  a 
handsome,  fine  boy  of  twenty,  a  lieu- 
tenant in  the  army.  He  speaks  Eng- 
lish Very  well,  and  we  took  to  each  other 
140 


L  A  U  RI  E  L 

immediately.  But  before  we  could  ex- 
change ten  words,  the  queen  came  to 
the  door.  She  is  beautiful.  She  is  dark 
and  tender  and  Russian,  while  the  king 
is  fair  and  cool  and  Scandinavian.  The 
queen  kissed  me  on  the  cheek,  and,  after 
a  few  words  of  greeting,  begged  the 
privilege  of  calling  me  by  my  first 
name.  How  could  I  refuse  her  gra- 
cious kindness  ?  Taking  my  arm,  she 
began  showing  me  the  curios  with 
which  the  room  was  decorated.  Then 
the  king  came,  and  we  had  a  talk  to- 
gether. Pretty  soon  I  noticed  a  hush 
in  the  general  conversation.  We  turned. 
Did  I  intercept  a  glance  from  queen  to 
king  ?  It  was  the  grand  duke.  Salut- 
ing the  king  first,  he  came  straight  to 
me  and  stooped  and  kissed  my  hand, 
welcoming  me  to  Illeria.  It  was  the 
first  time  I  had  seen  him  since  our  ar- 
rival, and  in  uniform.  He  was  as  hand- 
some as  he  was  audacious.  I  could  not 
141 


L  A  U  RI E  L 

help  smiling  heartily.  The  queen 
laughed  at  the  duke's  enthusiasm. 
Don't  be  angry,  he  took  me  by  sur- 
prise and  I  could  not  help  it. 

At  table,  I  was  placed  between  the 
king  and  the  duke.  The  king  asked  me 
how  I  liked  my  decoration,  which  I  had 
pinned  to  my  waist,  and  as  he  helped 
me  to  butter  and  radishes,  told  me  I  re- 
minded him  of  the  "  Gibson  Girl."  In 
the  middle  of  the  lunch  George  left  to 
go  to  his  drill.  I  was  ever  so  sorry,  as 
I  could  be  quite  natural  with  him.  The 
truth  of  it  is,  they  were  just  like  any 
other  "  folks,"  and  it  was  a  delightful 
experience. 

After  lunch,  the  queen  showed  me 
over  her  boudoir,  and  then  we  went  to 
the  balcony,  where  every  one  seemed  to 
have  a  camera  in  hand.  The  passion 
to  be  "  taken  "  seems  to  be  a  royal  one. 
The  king  could  refuse  an  audience  to 
any  one  but  a  photographer.  He  prob- 
142 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

ably  has  his  pictures  taken  at  least  five 
times  a  day.  This  would  be  an  unex- 
aggerated  average.  I  do  not  think  they 
do  it  so  much  to  perpetuate  their  differ- 
ent moods  to  admiring  historians  as  to 
stiffen  themselves  in  their  own  estima- 
tion. Kings  are  but  puppets  of  their 
people  at  best.  To  pose  is  to  impose ; 
it  is  to  stand  straight  and  to  be  ever 
ready  for  an  effect.  They  took  me 
with  the  king  and  the  queen  and  the 
grand  duke,  with  uncle  and  aunt,  alone 
and  in  groups.  Then  I  took  them  sep- 
arately and  collectively.  It  was  a  pho- 
tographic orgy,  and  its  egotism  could 
only  be  satisfactorily  explained  by  roy- 
alty, I  suppose.  I  could  not  imagine 
you,  my  friend,  standing  for  your  pic- 
ture like  a  king  or  an  actor. 

To  some  men  this  easy  vanity  would 
be  impossible.     You  are  one  of  those 
so  inherently  modest  as  to  be   some- 
times  most  aggravating.     I   remember 
143 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

when  I  used  to  board  at  a  little  cheap 
summer  hotel  on  Long  Island,  how 
each  guest  tried  to  impress  the  others 
with  his  or  her  importance  at  home, 
with  one's  intimacy  with  great  people, 
and  one's  acquaintance  with  all  the  la- 
test books  and  gossip.  To  be  outdone 
in  this  barren  contest  was  to  be  without 
position,  and  to  cry  vainly  for  a  second 
help  of  dessert.  How  ignorant,  how 
unimportant  I  was  made  to  feel  by  the 
women,  although  the  men  did  not  all 
seem  to  share  the  opinion.  Well,  it  is 
the  same  here  with  those  who  are  nour- 
ished by  the  court.  Every  man  is  en- 
deavouring to  out-scintillate  the  others ; 
every  woman  to  out-dress  her  rival.  A 
new  bon-mot,  or  a  fresh  conundrum  is 
a  royal  passport,  and  he  of  natural  wit 
outranks  the  diplomatic  dean.  Speech 
must  out-glitter  decorations,  as  smoke- 
less persiflage  is  accepted  from  any 
smooth  bore. 

144 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

If  I  had  not  known  you,  I  should  be 
ready  to  engulf  myself  in  the  maelstrom 
of  wit  and  pleasure.  As  it  is,  I  feel  fifty 
years  old,  and  should  not  regret  sitting 
out  a  two-step  alone,  or  being  omitted 
from  a  court  ball.  You  have  set  me  in 
the  first  row  of  the  balcony,  rather  than 
permitted  me  to  act  upon  the  stage. 
For  which  I  thank  my  mentor  humbly. 

Every  one  is  so  kind,  so  very  kind, 
and  I  ought  to  be  so  happy.  I  wonder 
what  it  is  ?  I  love  this  room  and  hate 
to  leave  it.  The  west  is  before  me. 
But  the  sun  seems  to  set  so  far,  so  far 
away  that  it  must  be  rising  somewhere 
near  you.  As  always, 

LAURIEL. 


145 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 


Nov.  i. 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND  ROYAL  :  —  It  has 
been  impossible  to  write  before.  Every 
moment  has  been  taken  up.  Frivolity 
has  claimed  me  for  her  own,  and  gaiety 
seems  to  have  become  my  god.  Al- 
though it  is  not  as  serious  as  that,  it 
has  been  pretty  bad.  What  a  contrast 
between  our  lives!  You  are  digging 
for  gold,  and  I  am  "  frivolling "  the 
hours  away  having  a  good  time.  You 
are  working  below,  and  I  dancing  on 
the  top  crust.  You  are,  oh,  so  serious  ! 
And  my  letters  to  you  seem  almost  the 
whole  of  my  solemnity.  You  made  me 
ashamed  of  myself,  and  yet  —  I  cannot 
help  it  —  what  else  could  I  do  ?  And 
I  won  the  handicap  golf  prize  given 
by  the  crown  prince.  I  will  tell  you 
about  it,  for  there  occurred  while  I 
played  something  you  must  explain. 
146 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

Lady  Castleton,  the  wife  of  the  Eng- 
lish minister,  was  my  partner.  She  was 
handicapped  thirty  and  I  only  eighteen. 
It  is  a  short,  rough  course,  —  a  luck 
course,  with  brassie  work  only  in  two 
holes.  The  fourth  hole  is  the  short 
one,  only  ninety-two  yards  —  a  bogie  3. 
Just  before  I  approached  the  third  hole, 
Duke  Constantine,  looking  very  sporty 
in  a  red  coat  trimmed  with  green  velvet, 
came  up. 

"  What  do  you  want  most  in  the 
world,  Miss  Livingstone  ? "  he  began, 
abruptly. 

"  To  win  the  next  hole  in  two,"  I 
answered,  addressing  the  ball.  "  Well," 
said  he,  with  great  deliberation,  "if 
your  supreme  wish  is  to  make  that 
hole  in  two,  you  will  do  it.  What  a 
person  desires  supremely  he  gets." 
With  that  he  turned  and  left  me 
feeling  strange  and  uncomfortable. 
Lady  Castleton  halved  the  second 
147 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

hole    with    me.     I    should    have    won 
easily. 

Something  seemed  to  elate  me  be- 
yond words.  Can  you  understand  the 
sudden  feeling  of  being  able  overcom- 
ing one  who  generally  is  not?  Of 
course  you  can't,  you  who  are  able  all 
of  the  time.  I  drove  within  two  feet  of 
the  hole,  and  easily  putted  in  in  two.  It 
seemed  the  most  natural  thing  in  the 
world  to  do.  I  was  the  only  person 
unastonished.  I  won  the  beautiful 
prize,  a  silver  tea-set,  by  one  stroke 
over  twenty  competitors.  The  duke 
startled  me,  but  I  frightened  myself 
when  I  came  to  think  of  the  incidents 
in  the  quiet  of  my  own  room. 

Is  it  a  riddle  or  a  warning?  What  is 
the  answer?  and  to  whom  does  it  apply? 
Is  what  the  duke  said  to  me  true  ?  If 
so,  I  don't  know  whether  to  like  it  or 
not.  I  am  uneasy,  and  come  to  you  for 
interpretation. 

148 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

It  is  far  past  midnight.  The  west 
is  black  and  desolate.  A  few  electric 
arcs  show  the  place  of  a  city.  The  har- 
bor lights  gleam  fitfully  and  quizzically. 
I  feel  as  if  Mona  Lisa  were  smiling 
down  at  me  with  inscrutable  irony.  I 
wish  that  golf-prize,  so  gracefully  be- 
stowed by  the  hands  of  the  crown  prin- 
cess herself,  had  made  me  happier. 

Good  night.  LAURIEL. 


149 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 


Sunday,  Nov.  5. 

MY  DEAR  ROYAL  :  —  I  should  be  dis- 
appointed if  a  mail  came  in  with  no 
letter  from  you.  Of  course  I  should. 
Nor  courts  nor  gaiety  can  make  up  to 
an  American  girl  for  the  separation 
from  her  home  friends  when  she  is  in 
exile.  She  craves  their  memory  and 
their  attention.  She  feels  defrauded  if 
she  is  not  the  focus  of  their  thoughts. 
She  loves  to  be  missed,  and  told  so. 

Then,  too,  distance  is  the  magic 
glass.  The  sky  seems  never  so  blue, 
nor  the  air  so  crystalline,  as  at  home. 
And  the  Bay  of  Tania?  The  natives 
don't  think  so  much  about  it,  but  the 
foreigners  and  tourists  are  wild.  They 
rave  and  foam.  Why  ?  Not  because 
a  great  sea-fight  had  centuries  ago  been 
fought  here  and  lost  and  won.  Not 
because  Pericles  built  temples  on  its 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

shore  which  Phidias  decorated.  Not  a 
bit  of  it!  Simply  because  historians 
wrote  of  the  battles,  poets  sang  them, 
and  because  archaeologists  have  res- 
urrected towns  of  wondrous  beauty. 

Why,  it  does  not  compare  to  Glouces- 
ter Bay  —  God  bless  her !  —  nor  the 
shore  of  Eastern  Point.  Yet  only  a 
limited  class  of  artists  rave  about  our 
home  ports,  our  home  seas  and  moun- 
tains and  slopes  and  defiles  and  gorges. 
We  have  history,  but  where  is  our  He- 
rodotus or  Zenophon  ?  Poetry  —  but 
where  is  our  Horace  and  where  our 
Virgil?  America  had  as  great  men  as 
Europe  before  Columbus  was  born. 
Where  is  our  Plutarch  ? .  We  haven't 
begun  to  recreate  the  Mayas,  the  Incas, 
the  Montezumas,  and  the  Mound- 
builders.  Were  the)*  not  patriotic  ? 
And  was  not  their  civilisation  one  of 
the  marvels  of  the  world  ?  Had  they 
no  Sappho  and  no  Phidias? 


L  AU  R  I  E  L 

You  and  your  last  letter  have  made 
me  so  proud  of  our  unknown  history, 
that  I  almost  forget  my  Dutch  and 
English  descent.  Five  hundred  years 
from  now  the  tourists  of  Europe  and 
Asia  will  invade  the  United  States,  not 
for  its  game,  or  mountain  climbing,  or 
its  vastness,  but  because  of  its  histori- 
cal interest. 

Unlike  most  girls,  but  like  Ruskin's 
ideal  in  "  Sesame  and  Lilies,"  I  was 
turned  loose  as  soon  as  I  could  read, 
to  browse  in  Prescott,  Motley,  Ban- 
croft, and  Parkman,  and  Fiske.  Such 
writers  will  be  the  saviours  of  our  na- 
tional pride.  When  you  wrote,  "  Do 
not  be  ashamed  to  know  your  own 
country  first,"  and  "  Do  not  be  carried 
away  by  Illeria.  Its  only  interest  lies 
in  its  discovered- past,"  you  opened  my 
eyes,  dear  friend,  as  you  always  do, — 
and  you  led  me  back  to  my  childhood, 
when  I  used  to  curl  upon  the  sofa  and 


L  AU  R  I  E  L 

dream  of  the  red  men's  ancestors  and 
of  mighty  Americans. 

Having  eased  my  mind  by  this  school- 
girl essay,  I  suppose  I  must  answer 
your  questions. 

First:  I  am  very  happy,  at  least  as 
happy  as  I  can  be.  I  am  never  allowed 
to  be  alone,  and  when  I  do  lock  the 
door  the  whole  of  Illeria  and  all  that 
dwell  therein  is  locked  out.  For  here, 
you  know,  I  am  on  American  soil, 
under  the  dear  old  stars  and  stripes,  and 
no  foreigner  can  invade  my  thoughts  or 
snatch  the  mask  from  my  face.  The 
mask  falls  of  its  own  accord,  and  my 
thoughts,  many  of  them,  fly  to  you. 
You  ask  me  to  be  honest  with  you. 
You  surely  do  not  want  me  to  tell 
you  all  my  thoughts.  What  I  choose 
to  impart,  you  will  protect. 

How  do  I  like  Constantine  now? 
Honestly,  not  as  well  as  I  did  in  the 
States  (you  see  how  Continentally  we 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

can  express  ourselves),  but  I  ought  to 
like  him  better.  If  "  love  with  cutting 
grows,"  I  can  never  love  him  at  this 
rate.  We  are  thrown  together  morn- 
ing, noon,  and  night.  It  is  an  open 
secret  that  the  king  would  permit  his 
younger  brother  to  marry  an  American 
girl  with  a  great  fortune.  Americans 
are  just  now  popular  in  European 
courts,  —  their  money  more  so.  His 
chivalrous  air  of  possession  wearies  me, 
while  the  congratulatory  looks,  of  the 
colony  are  at  times  insupportable.  I 
begin  to  understand  why  women  are 
driven  to  desperate  sacrifice,  simply 
for  protection. 

At  present,  the  duke  is  insanely  jeal- 
ous of  Prince  George.  While  Con- 
stantine  is  dwarfed  by  his  surroundings 
(Illeria  does  not  agree  with  his  com- 
plexion), young  George  is  enlarged.  He 
is  a  dear,  and  is  making  desperate  love. 
He  is  naive,  inexperienced,  and  charm- 


L  A  U  RI E  L 

ing.  His  English  accent  is  delicious. 
His  equerry  brings  me  notes  and  flowers 
every  day  now,  and  we  have  met  on 
the  golf  ground  and  in  the  palace 
garden  —  by  chance. 

The  youngest  son  of  the  king  has 
little  future.  He  can  become  a  marshal, 
marry  some  rich  princess  or  duchess, 
and  live  quietly  ever  after.  He  is  gay 
and  interesting  and  unspoiled.  I  wish 
I  knew  what  the  future  would  bring 
forth.  I  dread  my  father's  titanic  silence 
and  awful  trust  in  me  more  than  I  do 
Aunt  Niobe's  dreadful  insistence.  I  live 
in  an  atmosphere  of  coercion  and  sug- 
gestion that  may  break  the  bars  down 
before  I  know  it.  There!  I  have  told 
you  the  whole  truth,  at  the  risk  of  be- 
ing thought  conceited  or  unmaidenly. 
Last  night  I  cried  myself  to  sleep.  And 
this  morning  at  golf,  Ahmed  Bey,  the 
Turkish  minister,  perhaps  the  wittiest 
man  in  Tania,  attributed  my  high  colour 
«55 


L  AU  R  I  E  L 

to  his  "  approaching."  I  replied  that  it 
was  impossible  for  him  to  put  out. 
He  then  asked  me  the  following  ques- 
tion :  "  Mees  Livingstone  —  was  eet 
Lokeenvar  or  Sai-ent  Paul  who  ran  off 
with  the  fair  Eileen  ?  " 

I  wish  the  magicians  of  Illeria  would 
spread  a  charmed  carpet  and  run  off 
with  me.  Oh,  how  I  wish  it  at 
times ! 

Then  you  ask  me,  do  I  miss  you? 
Must  I  answer  ?  I  do  miss  you.  Some- 
times I  miss  you  dreadfully.  But  then, 
I  don't  really  know  if  it  is  you  I  miss. 
Maybe  it  is  only  the  dear,  simple  old 
home  I  miss.  Or  maybe  it  is  the 
uttered  sympathy  —  the  camaraderie  I 
miss.  Maybe  it  is  Ethel.  I  miss  her 
terribly.  Or  maybe,  again,  it  is  the 
schmerz  for  the  downs  and  rocks  of 
Eastern  Point.  Or  maybe  I  am  hungry. 
I  can't  tell.  All  I  know  is  that  I  feel 
hollow,  and  nourishment,  like  vaccina- 
156 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

tion,   doesn't   seem   to   take   easily.     I 
guess  it's  the  water,  that's  all. 

It  is  late  —  so  very  late.  Mine  is  the 
only  private  light  in  the  city.  I  must 
smuggle  the  time  to  you.  I  will  do  for 
once  what  you  asked  me.  It  is  only 
because  I  feel  lonely  to-night.  I  kiss 
my  hand  to  the  west  before  I  say  — 
good-night. 

LAURIEL. 


157 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 


TANIA,  Nov.  16. 

MY  VERY  DEAR  FRIEND  :  —  The  sky  is 
as  gray  as  the  breast  of  the  whippoor- 
will.  It  is  soft  and  sympathetic,  and  is 
in  harmony  with  my  mood  to-day.  I 
have  been  told  that  brunettes  are  more 
dual  in  their  natures  than  blondes  — 
that  we  of  fair  Saxon  blood  are  more 
lymphatic  and  passionless.  It  is  true. 
I  am  not  given  to  paroxysms  of  temper, 
nor  do  I  sputter  like  ALtna.  Perhaps 
it  is  the  desire  to  be  complaisant,  or 
perhaps  it  is  to  evade  wrinkles  and  save 
the  complexion,  or  perhaps  it  is  the 
hope,  which  is  in  every  girl's  heart, 
to  appear  inscrutable.  They  say  the 
simplest  woman  can  read  the  deepest 
of  her  sex  by  a  look,  and  that  the  wisest 
of  men  are  foiled  by  the  most  superfi- 
cial of  women.  This  cannot  be  nature's 
original  plan.  People  went  to  Bar- 
158 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

num's  expecting  to  be  fooled ;  and  they 
were  not  disappointed.  Men  approach 
women  expecting  to  be  mystified,  and 
they  are ;  we,  by  the  grace  of  the  privi- 
leges of  our  sex,  helping  on  the  comedy 
of  errors.  Aunt  Niobe  does  not  under- 
stand. Papa,  who  returns  in  a  couple 
of  weeks,  does  not.  How  could  he, 
when  I  flaunt  my  aigrette  as  high  as 
possible,  when  in  my  heart  of  hearts 
I  would  melt  upon  his  shoulder,  and 
wish  for  nothing  better  than  to  be  his 
little  girl  ?  And  people  call  me  "  proud," 
and  "  haughty,"  and  "  cold,"  and  "  unap- 
proachable." It  is  simply  the  lattice 
barred.  It  must  be.  Ah,  how  I  miss 
my  mother! 

But  you  —  you  are  different.  You 
are  my  comrade,  the  only  comrade  I 
have  ever  had.  I  want  you  to  under- 
stand me.  You  must  do  so.  No  mat- 
ter what  the  future  brings  forth,  you 
must  understand. 

'59 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

You  ask  me  again  how  the  game 
goes  on.  It  is  no  longer  a  game.  It  is 
almost  a  maelstrom.  I  am  swept  along. 
The  torrent  only  increases  as  I  look 
ahead.  I  ought  to  be  the  happiest 
girl  in  the  world.  Pleasure  of  every 
variety,  enough  to  satisfy  the  most 
exigeante,  lies  at  my  feet.  According 
to  the  books,  I  ought  to  live  in  a 
dream  of  ecstasy.  Fortune  and  atten- 
tion crown  me.  Instead,  I  float  upon 
my  reveries.  They  wander  like  the 
tide,  and  carry  me  as  far.  What  do 
I  dream  ?  I  do  not  know.  Whither 
do  my  thoughts  wander?  I  cannot 
tell.  Monsieur  Jules  Clercy,  the  sec- 
retary of  the  French  Legation,  was 
leading  me  through  the  intricate  mazes 
of  a  figure  in  the  German  last  night. 

"  What  are  you  looking  at  ?  "  he  said, 
with  a  hurt  accent.  "You  are  so  far 
away.  Are  you  looking  for  the  prince 
or  the  duke  ?  " 

160 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

With  the  sure  dexterity  of  his  race, 
he  had  guided  an  entranced  girl  for  ten 
minutes.  I  forgave  his  impertinence 
for  his  ability.  The  French  weary  me. 
They  know  so  well  how,  without  guess- 
ing what  to  do. 

Frankly,  my  friend,  I  don't  like  my 
position.  Even  now  we  are  "  tired, 
my  heart  and  I."  I  don't  mean  that 
I  am  bored.  The  country  is  so  beauti- 
ful. The  experience  is  so  unique.  I 
am  interested  every  moment.  But  the 
burden  of  the  future  crushes.  Do  you 
remember  the  German  story  of  the 
room  whose  walls  grew  narrower  every 
day,  until  finally  the  victim  was  de- 
stroyed? The  ceiling  drops  imper- 
ceptibly, but  surely.  The  horizon  is 
closing  about  me.  I  know  I  am  ner- 
vous and  morbid.  I  dread  Papa's 
return  above  all  other  things. 

He  is  so  changed  since  his  stupen- 
dous success.  He  used  to  lose  his 
161 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

temper  and  his  case.  Now  he  is  kind 
enough  —  too  kind.  But  his  will  has 
become  steel  in  proportion  as  his  self- 
control  is  subject  to  his  pride.  He  has 
at  present  a  stupendous  plan  to  grant 
to  Illeria  exclusively  his  storage  pat- 
ents, thus  building  up  for  this  baby 
kingdom  an  irresistible  fleet.  This  will 
allow  Illeria  to  snap  her  fingers  at 
Turkey  and  Russia,  and  will  guarantee 
a  long  life  of  freedom  and  internal  pros- 
perity. It  begins  to  dawn  upon  me 
that  when  ambition  vaults  its  natural 
barriers,  it  is  merely  a  polite  name  for 
murder.  It  frequently  becomes  filia- 
cide,  if  I  may  coin  the  crime. 

Six  weeks  from  next  Sunday,  the 
last  night  of  the  year,  the  crown  prin- 
cess is  to  give  a  great  masked  ball. 
Just  to  induct  you  for  a  moment  into 
the  crowned  circles,  so  easily  opened  to 
a  member  of  a  diplomatic  family,  I 
enclose  an  invitation  directed  to  you 
162 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

personally.  This  is  by  the  kindness  of 
Prince  George.  It  will  be  a  gorgeous 
affair,  and  preparations  on  the  most 
extensive  scale  are  being  made.  What 
shall  I  wear?  What  disguise  would 
you  assume  if  you  were  I  ?  I  cannot 
explain  to  you  how  I  feel  about  that 
night.  I  have  the  strangest  impres- 
sion. It  is  as  if  a  live  wire  hung  over 
one.  I  almost  wish  my  friend  were  to 
be  there  to  protect  me.  I  am  all,  ALL 
alone. 

I  wave  my  good-night   to   the  dear 
West. 

LAURIEL. 


163 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 


November  26. 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND  ROYAL  :  —  Your 
letter  has  just  been  read  and  lies  open 
before  me,  its  leaves  fluttering  in  the 
window-wind.  I  do  not  know  whether 
to  be  sorry  or  glad  for  you.  I  am  glad 
you  are  to  leave  Tucson.  It  is  so  terri- 
bly far  away.  I  am  sure  you  have  done 
the  best  possible  by  the  mine.  One 
cannot  make  gold  out  of  quartz,  and  a 
gentleman  does  not  sell  quartz  for  gold. 
I  am  more  than  sorry  that  you  did  not 
realise  what  you  hoped.  But  you  are 
worth  infinitely  more  than  all  the  gold 
you  could  dig,  and  I  am  proud  of  your 
honesty,  and  believe  in  your  ability,  and 
I  don't  care  a  whit  whether  you  are  the 
poorest  man  in  the  world.  Indeed,  I 
should  like  you  better  if  you  were. 

What  errants  you  miners  are  !  You 
wander  east,  and  you  wander  west. 
164 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

What  would  you  do  if  you  married  and 
settled  down  ?  Would  you  settle  in  a 
Pullman,  or  an  Atlantic  liner,  or  upon 
a  blast  of  dynamite  ?  You  rush  so 
readily  and  uproot  so  easily. 

I  suppose  it  will  be  Mexico  next,  or 
possibly  Borneo.  You  make  me  dizzy 
with  your  vagrancy,  you  unchangeable 
man. 

Let  me  tell  you  a  true  story  as  it 
came  to  me  from  Quaker  lips  a  few  days 
ago.  She  was  a  beautiful  lady  in  gray 
—  a  grandmother  —  and  we  were  telling 
about  the  possibilities  of  American  pov- 
erty, the  only  hopeful  poverty  in  the 
world,  and  of  the  gaucheries  of  American 
parvenues,  —  the  most  impossible  bores 
in  existence.  She  said  that  years  ago 
an  Irish  labourer  in  Lancaster,  Pa.,  by 
means  of  constant  work  and  extraordi- 
nary thrift  and  management  became  a 
contractor.  This  seems  to  be  the  Irish- 
man's natural  road  to  wealth.  He  then 
'65 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

wooed  and  married  a  beautiful  young 
girl  above  him  in  station,  and  quite  an 
heiress,  for  those  times.  They  had  two 
daughters  who  inherited  their  mother's 
great  beauty  and  refinement ;  thus,  nat- 
urally, they  received  much  attention. 
Their  many  suitors  simmered  down  to 
two  young  men  who  proved  to  be  fa- 
voured ones.  These  came  often  to  the 
house  and  courted  the  girls  regularly. 
The  father,  after  the  manner  of  his 
uneducated  and  forceful  kind,  was  an 
autocrat  in  his  own  home. 

"Who  are  your  visitors?"  he  in- 
quired ;  "  I  see  them  here  every  day. 
Is  it  business  they  mean  ?  " 

"  One  is  a  lawyer ;  the  other  a  theo- 
logical student,"  was  the  demure  reply. 

"  What  income  have  they  ?  "  gruffly. 

"  We  do  not  know,"  quaking. 

"  Have  they  sufficient  to  support  a 
wife  ? "  The  old  man  took  a  surly  puff 
at  his  pipe. 

166 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

"  We  have  had  no  occasion  to  ask," 
replied  the  daughters,  bridling. 

"  Then  I  insist  on  your  rinding  that 
out,"  snorted  the  autocrat,  while  his  wife 
shivered.  "  I've  worked  hard  to  get  my 
fortune,  and  I  don't  intend  to  spend  it 
supporting  poor  sons-in-law.  Find  out 
if  they  can  support  a  family,  or  my 
orders  is  —  send  them  away  at  the  next 
visit." 

The  girls  cried  and  obeyed.  The 
suitors  were  sent  away,  and  the  sisters 
never  married ;  neither  did  the  young 
men.  But  the  lawyer,  James  Buchanan, 
grew  to  be  the  President  of  the  United 
States,and  the  young  theological  student 
was  Rev.  Dr.  Wm.  Augustus  Muhlen- 
berg,  who  was  one  of  the  saints  of  the 
earth,  and  wrote  "  I  would  not  live 
alway." 

I  don't  suppose  this  could  happen 
outside  of  the  United  States  —  do  you? 
How  my  heart  aches  for  those  poor 
167 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

girls,  although  they  are  years  in  their 
early  graves.  I  suppose  thousands  of 
girls  have  been  blasted  by  the  lightning 
of  their  father's  autocratic  ambition. 
That  is  what  I  call  "  filiacide."  And 
those  girls  were  faithful  and  true  and 
loving  —  whether  they  married  their 
father's  fatal  choice,  or  died  single  of  a 
broken  heart.  I  begin  to  suspect  that 
many  an  international  marriage  has 
been  consummated  through  the  bride's 
heart's  blood.  Oh,  how  I  pity  her,  how 
I  pity  her! 

At  least  you  can  cast  a  sealed  bottle 
with  tidings  of  yourself  into  some  leap- 
ing river.  I  am  sure  it  will  drift  with 
its  precious  freight  straight  into  the 
harbor  of  Tania. 

God  bless  and  guide  you  in  your  new 
decisions.  I  shall  watch  for  them 
breathlessly. 

Always  faithfully, 

LAURIEL. 
1 68 


L  A  U  R  I  K  L 


December  17. 

IT  has  been  a  long  time,  dear  friend 
of  mine,  since  I  wrote  you  last.  Your 
cable  with  your  new  address  found  me 
in  my  room,  where  I  have  been  for  ten 
days.  I  am  so  glad  you  are  in  New 
York,  the  aorta  of  the  world.  Now  I 
can  look  south  upon  the  bay  with  a  new 
interest.  You  are  by  the  same  gray 
ocean,  and  can  feel  the  passion  of  the 
tide.  It  is  good  to  have  that  bond  be- 
tween us,  is  it  not?  Distance  always 
seems  less  by  water  than  by  land.  You 
look  along  the  blue  sun-flecked  horizon 
and  say,  "  Friend-ho !  "  Nothing  seems 
impossible  by  the  sea. 

Since  I  have  had  this  little  fever,  I 
have  been  the  creature  of  the  tides. 
You  can  never  know  what  that  means, 
you  big,  imperious  man !  At  night  I 
start  with  a  sense  of  suffocation.  The 
169 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

tide  has  simply  reached  its  depth,  and 
vitality  has  flown  with  hope.  The 
breath  comes  hard  and  the  cheeks 
burn,  and  life  has  become  less  worth 
struggling  for.  What  supersensitive- 
ness  this  foolish  fever  induces!  But 
I  understand  for  the  first  time  how  the 
recessional  tide  carries  the  dying  far 
out  upon  the  bosom  of  the  unknown 
sea,  and  they  never  return. 

And  then !  and  then !  There  is  a 
sudden  shock  of  physical  zest.  The 
tide  has  turned.  What  a  mystery !  It 
has  become  processional,  bringing  with 
its  invincible  movement  surging  joy  and 
hope,  and  the  fierce  longing  for  life. 
On  blessed  Eastern  Point  I  could  tell 
by  the  sound  of  the  lapping  on  the 
rocks  when  the  ocean  turned  in  its 
unknown  bed.  But  now  I  tell  by  the 
refluence  of  strength.  This  is  an  un- 
natural state  of  mind  for  a  modern 
athletic  girl  to  be  in,  and  you  must 
170 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

scold  me  into  sense.  But  I  can't  help 
it.  This  native  fever  is  recurrent  like 
the  tide,  and  almost  as  irresistible.  But 
I  have  a  good  doctor,  and  it  is  yielding 
slowly.  Aunt  Niobe  has  to  be  followed 
with  a  mop.  Her  blonde  doll  is  stuffed 
with  sawdust.  Papa  is  an  imperious 
sentinel,  and  I  am  not  allowed  to  read 
or  write  or  move.  -This  is  my  first  note 
from  the  room.  I  feel  as  excited  and 
virtuous  as  a  Spanish  smuggler.  Can 
you  read  the  pencil  scrawl  ? 

But  I  must  get  well  for  the  fancy- 
dress  ball.  Daily  flowers  from  Con- 
stantine  and  little  George  remind  me 
of  the  court  I  wish  I  might  never  see 
again.  I  have  told  many  fibs  to  many 
people  about  my  costume.  The  duke 
thinks  I  am  going  in  the  court  dress 
of  Antoinette,  while  Prince  George  is 
looking  for  a  German  peasant  girl  with 
her  hair  braided  down  her  back.  I 
think  I  have  thoroughly  mystified  them 
171 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

all.  I  shall  tell  you,  for  of  course  you 
will  not  be  there,  that  I  shall  be  a  flip- 
pant Dresden-china  shepherdess  with  a 
long,  hooked  staff ;  my  hat  will  be  fur- 
belowed  with  blue  ribbon,  and  a  broad 
blue  ribbon  on  my  staff.  I  shall  wear  for- 
get-me-nots, and  be  masked  in  white  silk. 

We  are  planning  to  leave  right  after 
the  ball,  so  I  must  hurry  up  and  get 
well.  Don't  you  wish  you  were  going 
to  be  present  ?  You  might  be  a  shep- 
herd with  a  peaked  hat,  a  horn,  and 
a  yodel/  Wouldn't  it  be  fun? 

I  am  a  little  tired  now,  and  must 
stop.  The  maid  will  post  this  in  time 
for  the  steamer,  and  may  it  greet  you  a 
little  rested  after  your  exhausting  Tuc- 
son experience.  Do  not  worry  about 
your  friend.  She  is  simply  storing  up 
a  little  energy.  She  may  need  it  later. 
As  always  faithfully,  L. 

P.  S.      Do     read     Sidney     Lanier's 
"  Marshes    of    Glynn." 
172 


L A  U  R I  EL 


Dec.  24. 
ROYAL  STRONG, 

University  Club,  New  York:  — 
Cable  received.    Why  leave  me  three 
weeks  without  address  ?     Is  that  kind  ? 
And  at  this  season  ?     At  least,  Merry 
Christmas  to  you.  L.  L.  L. 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 


THE  AMERICAN  LEGATION,  TANIA. 
AH,  you  wonderful,  you  royal  man ! 
What  shall  I  say?  You  have  left  me 
stunned  with  happiness  and  dazed  with 
joy.  My  heart  beats  so  that  I  can 
hardly  breathe  —  it  is  so  marvellous! 
And  then  I  grow  cold  with  fear  lest 
it  is  all  a  beautiful  dream,  and  I  must 
soon  awake  to  my  old  self.  Ah,  Royal, 
my  Royal,  tell  me,  tell  me  again  and 
again  is  it  true  ?  The  star  ruby  trembles 
and  gleams  mysteriously  and  lovingly. 
It  reassures  my  doubts  until  the  tears 
blind  me  as  I  write.  And  the  letter  — 
it  lies  hidden  on  my  heart ;  but  its 
words  burn  and  burn  until  my  soul 
seems  branded  by  your  mark.  Is  it 
not  all  true  ?  You  will  never  let  me 
awake  again  ?  Promise  me  that,  on  the 
knees  of  your  love.  I  could  not  call 
174 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

you  "  dearest "  unless  that  new  word 
had  flown  from  your  letter,  and  had 
nestled  in  my  heart.  It  has  taken 
such  complete  possession  of  me,  I  can 
think  of  nothing  else.  It  rings  like 
bells  in  my  ears.  So  I  can  say  "dear- 
est "  without  shame  for  the  first  time, 
for  you  have  taken  me,  and  I  am  yours. 
I  begin  now  to  understand  the  full 
meaning  of  the  term  "born  again."  I 
am  as  far  away  from  my  old  self  as 
light  is  from  darkness.  Indeed,  you 
have  uncovered  my  eyes,  and  I  can 
see.  You  have  flooded  me  with  radi- 
ancy. You  have  given  me  an  under- 
standing heart.  It  was  you  —  you 
royal  sweetheart,  whom  I  loved,  and 
I  didn't  know  it.  Then  you  came  — 
not  a  minute  too  soon  —  not  an  instant 
too  late  —  you  came !  As  I  saw  you, 
my  soul  became  illuminated.  Every- 
thing was  plain  —  life  —  the  future  — 
it  was  all  you.  I  should  have  died  if 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

you  had  not  taken  me  as  you  did.  Oh, 
my  love,  my  love ! 

You  ask  me  to  tell  you  the  story  of 
the  victory.  Shall  I  begin  at  the  in- 
credible night?  You  did  not  under- 
stand that  for  two  hours  I  had  danced 
incognita.  Then  Aunt  Niobe  broke 
her  word  to  me.  She  told  the  equerry 
of  Prince  George  and  Lieutenant  Ste- 
phanotis  of  Duke  Constantine's  ship  in 
the  same  breath.  They  had  been  hunt- 
ing wildly  for  me  all  the  evening.  They 
had  passed  me  a  hundred  times,  with- 
out my  giving  a  sign.  I  knew  the 
quarry  could  not  be  hidden  long.  I 
was  in  a  fever  of  anguish,  and  began  to 
understand  the  feelings  of  a  hunted 
fox. 

Now  let  me  confess  on  my  knees  my 
sin  against  my  own  heart  and  your  dear 
self.  I  had  been  so  ill  —  and  weak.  No 
one  knew  what  was  the  matter  with 
your  Lauriel  —  nor  did  she.  I  suppose 
,76 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

it  was  you,  and  she  never  recognised 
the  symptoms.  In  the  depth  of  my 
weakness  and  loneliness  and  despair, 
Papa  made  me  promise  to  make  a  de- 
cision on  the  night  of  the  ball.  And  — 
well,  in  a  delirium,  I  consented.  Noth- 
ing more  was  said,  and  no  names  were 
mentioned,  but  I  knew  what  he  meant, 
and  he  knew  I  did. 

At  a  few  minutes  to  one  I  stood  for 
a  moment  amid  the  crush  — alone  —  in 
that  great  golden  ballroom.  Before 
me,  in  the  doorway,  I  saw  the  duke 
enter,  seeking  me  with  eager,  unchained 
eyes.  I  knew  it  was  me  whom  he 
sought.  In  the  mirror,  at  the  same 
moment,  I  saw  Prince  George  bend 
forward,  his  boyish  face  eager,  confi- 
dent, and  exacting.  His  glance  had 
just  singled  me  out.  The  two  men 
arrived  at  my  side  at  the  same  instant. 
You  —  you  know  the  rest  —  how  you 
strode  in  like  a  god  —  claimed  me 
177 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

before  the  world,  like  a  king,  and  car- 
ried me  away. 

Then  I  knew  myself,  and  I  would 
have  followed  you  to  the  end  of  time  — 
through  danger,  and  poverty,  and  death 

—  through  everything.     You  knew  that 

—  you  Man  of  Men  ! 

And  in  the  garden !  It  was  so  miracu- 
lous—  so  beautiful!  How  could  I  yield 
too  quickly,  when  I  knew  that  through 
all  eternity  your  arms  would  be  my 
haven,  and  your  lips  my  home?  Oh, 
those  delicious  hours  —  and  you  did  it 

—  you  did  it  —  my  king! 

A  little  after  three  you  brought 
me  to  poor,  blind  Aunt  Niobe,  and 
the  ring  scorched  while  you  sought 
out  my  father.  Then  the  prince 
came. 

"  Before  the  dance,  your  Highness," 
I  said,  with  a  deep  curtsey,  "  I  want 
you  to  offer  me  felicitations  on  my 
engagement." 

178 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

"  It  cannot  be !  "  he  said.  "  It  cannot 
be.  I  will  crush  him ! "  Indeed,  he 
looked  quite  manly  and  able. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  I  said,  lightly,  "  I  am  so 
happy  that  it  is  true,  and  even  your 
Highness  could  not  crush  him.  He  is 
an  American,  and  very  large? 

"  An  American  ?     Impossible  !  " 

"  Why  impossible,  prince  ?  Do  you 
think  there  are  no  American  girls  of 
spirit  left  who  can  refuse  titles  in  order 
to  marry  the  men  they  love  ?  Is  our 
wealth  so  debasing  ?  Or  did  you  despise 
us  so  much  ?  " 

Then  the  boy  became  himself,  and  I 
began  to  like  him  immensely. 

"  Your  pardon,  mademoiselle,"  he  said, 
frankly.  "  I  congratulate  you  upon 
your  spirit;  but  I  congratulate  him 
upon  winning  a  true  princess."  Wasn't 
that  nice  of  him  ?  Then  he  ended,  with 
a  little  sorrowful  gulp,  "  I  hoped,  Miss 
Livingstone,  that  your  heart  might  have 
179 


L  A  U  RI  E  L 

been  won  over  to  Illeria."  Then  he 
whispered,  "  You  Americans  —  you  are 
unconquerable,  when  you  preserve  your 
independence.  Will  you  honour  me 
with  this  quadrille  ?  "  While  we  danced 
the  measure  in  stately  dignity  Duke 
Constantine  watched  and  scowled  — 
while  I  was  with  you,  dear  love,  plead- 
ing with  an  obdurate  Papa. 

"Will  you  tell  the  duke?"  I  whis- 
pered to  Prince  George,  at  the  last  bow. 
"  With  pleasure,"  he  answered,  with  a 
boyish  laugh.  And  I  guess  it  was  the 
only  thing  that  really  afforded  him 
undiluted  satisfaction  on  the  night  of 
the  great  court  ball. 

Then  you  left  as  mysteriously  as 
you  came.  If  your  letter  had  not  been 
handed  me  to-day  I  should  have  suffo- 
cated with  anxiety.  I  have  seen  no  one 
of  the  family  since  you  left.  You  say 
that  Papa's  verdict  is  that  we  are  not 
to  see  each  other  for  three  months,  and 
180 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

then  we  can  do  as  we  please.  What 
a  strange  condition !  Somehow  it  fills 
me  with  alarm.  But  you  need  not 
mind.  I  am  well  now,  and  am  very 
strong,  and  —  we  have  each  other. 

But  how  shall  we  bear  the  terrible 
separation  ?  You  must  write  every  day, 
even  if  it  is  mailed  only  once  a  week. 
And  you  must  direct  it  to  Aunt  Lucy, 
who  isn't  a  Kingophile,  and  who  loves 
me  dearly.  Not  that  I  think  Papa 
or  Aunt  Niobe  would  dare*,  but,  in 
military  language,  "  our  line  of  com- 
munication must  be  kept  protected  and 
open." 

Oh,  I  wish  Ethel  were  here !  I  am 
so  terribly  lonely.  You  must  be  patient 
with  me.  My  heart  has  cut  loose  from 
everybody  and  everything,  and  you  are 
now  the  whole  of  my  life.  You  will 
try  not  to  be  too  far  away.  I  could  not 
bear  it.  * 

Good-bye,  dear  love.  This  cruel 
181 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

time  is  such  a  torture,  and  each  second 
seems  a  heart's  eternity.  I  will  begin 
my  diary  to-morrow. 

Always  your 

LAURIEL. 

Tuesday,  the  Second  of  January,  1900. 


i8a 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 


Wednesday. 

MY  DEAR  LOVE: — This  is  the  third 
day  since  my  Rex  came.  My  heart  is 
still  in  a  tumult.  It  beats  with  wonder 
and  exaltation,  and  then  with  weariness 
and  widowhood.  My  hours  are  so  full 
with  the  memory  of  you,  and  so  lonely 
without  the  reality  of  your  dear  pres- 
ence !  Now  I  comprehend  how  Pain 
is  the  sister  of  Joy  —  perhaps  the  rela- 
tionship is  nearer,  for  my  suffering  is 
borne  by  and  because  of  my  great  hap- 
piness. The  loneliness  —  the  ignorance 
of  the  future  —  the  fear  lest  it  is  all  too 
beautiful  to  last,  —  these  are  new  forms 
of  anguish  impossible  except  through 
love.  And  the  greater  mystery  is  that 
I  suffer  gladly,  almost  eagerly,  because 
it  is  for  joy. 

I  am  afraid  you  have  taken  a  very 
intense  girl  whose  very  life  will  be  her 
183  ' 


L  AU  R  I  EL 

very  love.  So  deal  tenderly  and  kindly 
with  her.  You  have  unfolded  the 
woman  of  me,  and  made  me  choose  a 
woman's  ambition,  —  to  be  loved  as  I 
know  you  love  me.  That  is  enough  to 
live  for.  I  have  everything  to  hope. 
I  have  nothing  to  regret. 

But  Papa  doesn't  think  so.  He  is 
very  polite  about  it,  and  Aunt  Niobe 
exhibits  a  discretion  that  is  truly  alarm- 
ing. But  Aunt  Lucy  gave  me  a  sympa- 
thetic wink  at  dinner  to-day.  I  know 
that  I  have  been  the  subject  of  a  family 
council,  and  she,  bless  her  dear  heart, 
is  on  my  side. 

"  Laura,"  said  Papa,  after  dinner, 
"  would  you  care  if  I  smoked  my  cigar 
with  you  ?  " 

So  Laura  demurely  said  "  no  "  while 
her  heart  beat  "  yes,"  and  was  led  like 
a  lamb  to  the  balcony,  and  the  glass 
doors  were  carefully  closed  behind. 
Beyond  the  roof  of  the  tallest  white 
184 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L^ 

house,  over  the  square  where  the  band 
plays  every  evening  at  nine,  the  blue 
bay  spread  like  a  sea  of  iris.  The 
motionless  water  became  my  anodyne. 
The  calm  of  the  sea  was  fused  with  the 
strength  your  love  has  wrought  within 
me.  Your  ring,  with  its  six-pointed 
star,  looked  up  from  its  deep,  warm 
heart.  How  did  you  know  I  had  always 
dreamed  of  a  star  ruby  ? 

"  Laura,"  said  Papa,  quietly,  his  voice 
making  me  think  of  those  days  when  I 
used  to  fling  myself  on  his  neck  in  a 
passion  of  tears  just  after  my  mother 
died.  I  could  have  done  so  then,  had 
you  not  come. 

"  Laura,  my  daughter,  I  thought  I 
was  building  a  fortress.  Shall  it  be  a 
house  of  cards  ?  " 

Then  he  went  on  to  tell  me  of  Illeria, 

—  its  struggle  for  freedom,  his  ambition 

to  make  it  an  impregnable  kingdom, 

and  to  bring  it  up  to  its  pristine  state 

'85 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

of  grandeur,  so  that  it  may  be  the 
Mecca  of  liberty  and  art  and  beauty  to 
the  nations  of  Europe  and  of  Asia,  and 
how  I  was  the  pivot  to  those  plans. 
Wheat  must  grow  on  barren  plains; 
factories  must  spring  up  on  the  banks 
of  rivers.  His  was  a  dream  of  in- 
dustry, a  vision  of  a  prosperous,  un- 
conquerable people  who  wish  to  be 
converted  from  laziness  to  thrift  and 
from  carelessness  to  patriotism.  My 
marriage  to  the  duke,  or  better,  to  the 
prince,  would,  with  his  wealth,  bring 
this  all  about  and  more.  "  It  is  only 
alliance  with  money  that  can  make  this 
possible.  It  is  the  greatest  privilege 
and  opportunity  ever  offered  an  Amer- 
ican girl.  Will  you  retard  Illeria 
and  the  state  on  her  borders  a  hun- 
dred years  by  your  selfishness  ?  "  These 
are  a  few  of  his  arguments,  presented 
without  passion,  from  a  bitterly  disap- 
pointed heart.  In  other  words,  my 
1 86 


L AU  R I E  L 

father  has  become  a  denationalised 
American. 

I  wonder  if  every  man  is  born  with 
the  insanity  to  rule,  as  every  woman 
is  born  with  the  sanity  to  be  ruled. 
The  greater  his  wealth,  the  vaster  the 
empire  he  craves ;  the  greater  her 
wealth,  the  more  absolute  master  she 
desires.  Such  is  the  chasm  that  sep- 
arates my  father  and  me  for  the  first 
time. 

"  But  I  love  him,  Papa,"  was  all  the 
argument  I  could  think  of. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  disobey  me  ?  " 

"  I  love  him,"  was  all  I  could  say. 

"  You  had  better  go  to  your  room, 
and  we  shall  see." 

So  here  I  am  —  here  we  are,  my  ring 
and  I.  Somehow  or  other  it  seems  like 
a  stage.  That  brief  talk  was  like  the 
ringing  up  of  the  curtain.  Is  the  act  a 
tragedy,  or  a  melodrama  ?  But  the  ac- 
tress must  not  —  shall  not  fail.  I  wonder 
187 


LA  U  R I E  L 

how  the  first  woman  felt  who  ever  acted 
on  the  stage.  Pepys  says  he  saw  her  in 
1660.  What  praise  did  she  encounter? 
What  applause  ?  What  hisses  ?  And 
did  she  fail  ? 

You  have  stood  by  me,  dearest,  like 
a  rock.     You  cannot  fail  me. 

Good-night,  your  own 

LAURIEL. 


1 88 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 


Thursday. 

DEAREST  HEART:  —  Two  commands 
have  come  to  me  to-day.  The  first 
from  my  king.  This  I  do  not  wholly 
understand.  I  would  ask  questions. 
The  woman  in  me  wants  the  reason 
explained.  But  my  love  dictates  trust- 
ful obedience.  My  letters  shall  be  sent 
to  the  address  in  town  as  you  instruct. 
Do  you  realise  that  my  ignorance  of 
your  whereabouts  adds  a  mystery  that 
I  no  longer  see  the  necessity  of?  But 
you  know  best.  It  is  not  so  hard  for  a 
woman  to  surrender  her  heart  as  her 
judgment.  Teach  me  the  finer  faith  of 
love. 

The  second  command  comes  from 
the  chamberlain  of  Papa's  king.  I  am 
bidden  to  dine  with  the  king  and  queen 
to-morrow.  This  I  cannot  refuse.  In- 
deed, the  crowned  invitation  has  been 
189 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

accepted,  and  it  has  proceeded  so  far  as 
the  discussion  of  gowns.  What  shall  I 
wear?  For  it  is  you  only  I  shall  care 
to  please. 

You  can  little  understand  how  a  girl 
feels.  I  know  it  will  be  meant  as  a 
night  of  temptation.  I  shall  be  carried 
to  a  high  pinnacle,  and  a  gorgeous  spec- 
tacle will  be  spread  before  me.  How 
little  they  dream  that  kings  no  longer 
allure,  and  position  no  longer  tempts. 
It  will,  indeed,  be  a  performance,  —  five 
hours  of  vaudeville,  and  one  hour  of 
charade.  When  a  girl  is  on  the  heights, 
and  above  the  clouds,  the  sub-peaks  of 
society  or  opportunity  seem  as  insignifi- 
cant as  a  Punch  and  Judy  show. 

Aunt  Niobe  calls  me  Quixotic,  senti- 
mental, and  out  of  my  senses.  She 
says  every  girl  has  to  go  through  the 
experience  of  thinking  she  loves  an 
older  man  in  order  to  find  her  equilib- 
rium. I  suppose  there  is  a  variety  of 
190 


L AU  R I  EL 

girl  who  sighs  for  sensations,  and  who 
plays  tag  with  her  finer  sensibilities.  I 
have  talked  with  many  a  singed  cat  on 
hotel  piazzas,  and  wondered  afterward  if 
there  were  any  nobility  or  beauty  in  the 
world.  These  iconoclasts  of  character 
that  pull  others  to  the  level  they  occupy 
can  only  become  what  they  are  through 
the  craving  for  sensations,  and  the  giv- 
ing themselves  up  to  experiences.  They 
teach  that  a  woman  must  have  had  sev- 
eral "  affairs  "  in  order  to  know  how  to 
love.  How  they  cheat  themselves  and 
their  proselytes !  They  are  of  a  race 
of  women  who  love  with  their  heads 
and  distrust  with  their  hearts,  —  poor, 
half-minded  creatures,  with  the  bored 
and  anxious  faces  of  a  hunter  who 
regrets  that  she  is  not  the  hunted. 

Now,  it  seems  to  me,  dear  love,  that 

if   a   woman    concentrates   herself,  her 

energies,  her  nature,  upon  the  one  love 

of  her  life,  that  when  that  love  comes, 

191 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

she  enters  upon  her  normal  existence 
for  the  first  time ;  just  as  a  woman  be- 
loved is  the  only  woman  completely 
organised.  1  feel  so  sane,  so  normal, 
and  you  have  made  me  complete. 

I  cannot  tell  you  how  this  new  con- 
dition, which  this  great  love  of  ours 
has  wrought,  purifies  my  judgment,  and 
opens  my  eyes.  I  used  to  be  in  differ- 
ent moods  with  different  men.  From 
now  on,  this  change  of  feeling  will  be 
impossible,  because  I  am  always  with 
you,  and  all  my  moods  are  yours.  Can 
you  understand  ?  Do  you  see  ? 

I  notice  that  much  of  my  liberty  has 
been  taken  away.  The  family  is  clos- 
ing about  me.  How  I  miss  Ethel !  You 
must  send  me  a  picture  immediately. 
I  want  to  consecrate  my  room.  I  am 
so  lonely !  The  clock  ticks  more  softly 
than  usual,  and  I  shiver.  Where  are  you, 
my  own  ?  Toujours  a  vous, 

LAURIEL. 
192 


L  AU  RI  E  L 


Friday. 

MY  REX  :  —  I  no  longer  say  "  I 
live,"  I  say  "  I  love,"  for  my  love 
has  become  my  life,  engulfing  all  the 
energies  of  my  being.  You  have 
brought  so  much  to  me !  I  feel  you 
-invisible  beside  me  all  of  the  time,  but 
I  cannot  see  you.  I  can  picture  your 
form,  the  contour  of  your  face,  your 
black  beard,  and  your  chestnut  eyes, 
and  your  mouth,  but  I  cannot  put  them 
together.  They  refuse  to  composite. 
This  troubles  me.  Why  cannot  I  con- 
jure you  as  you  are  to  my  fancy!  Is 
my  love  too  small  to  comprehend  you  ? 
or  my  imagination  too  weak  to  appre- 
hend ?  I  must  take  a  lesson  in  mental 
photography,  or  be  miserable  at  this 
exasperating  failure  to  cheer  my  lone- 
liness by  your  picture,  which  should  flash 
unbidden  from  the  retina  of  my  soul. 


L A  URI EL 

Aunt  Niobe  is  watching  me,  and  any 
presence  but  yours  is  a  desecration.  I 
am  lonely  —  but  I  shall  never  again 
be  alone.  The  time  was  when  I  used 
to  flee  solitude  as  I  would  an  adroit 
enemy.  We  did  not  understand  each 
other.  But  now  I  crave  it  above  all 
other  companionship.  I  am  so  busy 
thinking  of  you.  What  are  you  doing 
this  minute?  What  are  you  saying? 
What  thinking?  This  desire  of  soli- 
tude is  indeed  the  test  of  love. 

And  shall  the  time  come  (is  it  wise 
that  it  should  come  ?)  when  we  shall  fill 
up  the  moats  and  level  the  walls  that 
separate  one  heart  —  one  life  from  the 
other?  They  say  God  looks  down,  and 
nothing  in  the  heart  is  hid.  But  we 
have  to  look  over,  and  only  after  an 
invitation. 

These  intuitive  people,  who  always 
read  you  through  and  through,  are  as 
tiresome  as  they  are  complacent.  I 
194 


L A  U  R I  EL 

have  been  told  that  nothing  is  so  sure 
as  the  intuitions  of  a  pure  and  loving 
woman.  I  do  not  think  this  can  be 
true.  Have  I  such  blessed  insight  ? 
You  are  blurred  even  as  your  face  is 
blurred  —  you  are  so  far  away.  This 
incompleteness  of  vision  and  of  com- 
prehension fills  me  with  great  love  as 
well  as  with  deep  despair. 

My  heart  gropes.  I  wish  I  knew 
where  you  are  —  I  dread  the  night  so. 
Even  now  Aunt  Niobe  tears  us  apart. 
Read  "  tears "  with  my  eyes,  and  you 
will  see  tears.  They  blind  me  with 
delicious  pain,  for  all  the  world  is  shut 
out  but  you  and 

LAURIEL. 


'95 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 


Saturday  morning.     Five  o'clock. 

DEAR  LOVE  :  —  Were  it  not  for  you, 
I  should  not  have  awakened.  It  is  very 
early,  and  very  still ;  a  beautiful  hour. 
Some  good  angel  bade  me  banish  the 
God  of  Sleep  and  summon  my  king. 
You  came  with  triumph,  and  you  took 
me  captive.  You  have  enchained  me 
with  my  love  for  you,  and  released 
me  with  your  love  for  me. 

When  I  think  of  you  my  whole 
nature  is  enriched  with  warmth  and 
tenderness.  I  never  imagined  such  a 
thing  could  be.  I  know  such  a  love 
has  never  existed.  It  calms  even  as  it 
agitates. 

Can  I  not  tell  you  this,  for  I  am 
yours?  I  was  cold  and  you  have 
warmed  me.  I  was  desolate  and  you 
have  comforted  me.  And  so  I  feel  as 
if  I  could  never  look  into  another's  face 
196 


L  A  U  R  I  EL 

until  I  look  into  yours;  nor  have  an- 
other's eye  desecrate  me  until  yours 
bless.  Even  the  sun  profanes  my 
cheek  after  your  kisses.  My  soul  cries 
for  solitude.  It  is  a  recluse  for  love  of 
you. 

Come  quickly !  Do  you  not  see  that 
I  tremble  as  I  write,  and  weep  as  I  sign 
myself, 

For  ever  yours, 

LAURIEL. 


197 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 


Sunday  —  the  fifth  day  from  your  advent. 

AH,  MY  REX  :  —  The  dinner  at  the 
palace  is  over,  and  you  were  not  there. 
You  are  not  the  man  to  dance  attend- 
ance on  royalty,  with  jewelled  orders 
and  girlish  ribbons  dangling  on  your 
breast  and  wreathed  about  your  shoul- 
ders. I  glory  in  you.  In  the  great 
state  dining-room  you  would  have  been 
as  living  ozone  to  decadent  parasites. 

Give  any  American  girl  six  peeps 
into  any  foreign  court  life,  and  she  will 
begin  to  appreciate  her  American  man 
if  she  has  a  single  star  of  liberty  left  in 
her  heart,  as  I  have  a  star  of  bondage 
on  my  finger.  But  I  won't  rhapsodise 
patriotism  any  more.  I  should  end  by 
wanting  to  hug  the  whole  nation,  with 
even  Godkin  and  Atkinson  thrown 
in.  Are  you  a  little  jealous  ?  I  hope 
so. 

198 


L AU  R I  EL 

I  wore  my  blue  crepe  de  chene.  I 
don't  suppose  this  conveys  any  idea  to 
your  mind,  but  Aunt  Niobe  kissed  me, 
and  said  I  looked  "  sweet  and  girlish." 
As  we  were  ushered  into  the  large  re- 
ception-room at  the  palace  the  incon- 
gruity of  my  ambition  and  position 
made  me  want  to  give  a  wild  shriek 
of  laughter,  or  burst  out  crying.  But 
the  severe  dignity  of  le  marechal  de  la 
cour  checked  the  madness  of  my  heart, 
and  we  obediently  sat  where  we  were 
told  to. 

There  were  four  dames  d'honneur  of 
the  queen,  who  tried  to  make  us  feel 
at  home,  and  there  hovered  about  us 
many  men  whose  figures  were  adorned 
with  the  inevitable  orders.  I  have 
sent  mine  to  Ethel.  You  know  I  can- 
not wear  it  now.  Count  Toka'i,  the 
Austrian  attache,  presented  me  to  the 
aide-de-camp  of  the  Grand  Duke 
Sergius  of  Russia.  How  I  hate  those 
199 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

insolent  Russians  who  disrobe  you  with 
their  eyes ! 

All  at  once  there  was  a  flutter.  The 
four  dames  d'honneur  lined  up  like  a 
rush  line  on  the  left  of  the  door  leading 
to  the  grand  salon,  while  we  three 
American  ladies  lined  up,  a  rival  team, 
on  the  right,  the  men  stationing  them- 
selves on  either  side.  The  doors  then 
opened  with  solemnity,  the  orchestra 
played  the  national  hymn,  and  the 
marechal  entered,  superb  in  powder  and 
staff  of  office.  Behind  him  came  the 
king  and  queen,  with  all  the  rest  of  the 
royal  family.  The  king  shook  hands 
with  us  in  turn  as  we  curtesied ;  also 
the  queen.  The  rest  of  the  family 
walked  in  and  were  curtesied  to  with- 
out shaking  hands.  Then  the  R.  F. 
passed  on  through  the  rush  lines  into 
the  magnificent  dining-room,  followed 
by  the  ladies  and  the  men. 

I  was  delighted  to  find  myself  at  the 

200 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

end  of  the  table,  with  Prince  George 
on  my  left,  and  the  Austrian  attache  on 
my  right.  George,  as  you  know,  is  not 
"  out "  yet,  and  so  could  sit  where  he 
pleased.  He  is  a  simple,  handsome 
boy,  like  an  American  boy,  with  a  stun- 
ning complexion,  and  direct,  honest  blue 
eyes.  He  is  not  too  intelligent,  but 
sincere  and  eager  to  acquire.  He  and 
I  are  still  great  friends.  He  is  my 
strong  ally.  We  laughed  and  giggled, 
and  he  poked  fun  at  the  people  at  table, 
much  to  my  pretended  horror,  calling 
one  of  the  king's  aides-de-camp  a  frog, 
and  another  an  owl.  Suddenly  he  whis- 
pered, "  Beware  of  the  water !  "  Then 
he  rattled  on  more  madly  than  before. 
Was  it  his  natural  mood,  or  was  he 
overwrought?  It  occurs  to  me  that 
most  brave  men  have  much  of  the 
"  Punchinello  "  in  them.  Of  course  you 
remember  the  song. 

But  what  did  he  mean?     Was  it  a 

201 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

boyish  tease  ?  I  am  not  nervous  or 
afraid.  Are  you  safe  ?  Tell  me  that 
you  are,  and  where  ?  I  am  a  very  little 
girl  with  you,  although  the  grand  duke 
says  that  I  am  regal  in  my  hauteur.  He 
was  my  shadow  until  we  went  home,  and 
then  he  insisted  upon  going  out  to  the 
carriage.  Yet  he  was  respectful,  very 
gracious,  and  like  his  old  self  —  lots  of 
fun.  I  could  not  find  fault,  and  some- 
how his  faultless  conduct  lifted  a  little 
of  the  burden  of  blind  apprehension 
which  the  prince's  words  dropped  on 
my  heart. 

Oh,  for  a  simple,  simple  life !  A  little 
white  cottage  with  vine-trellised  win- 
dows (I  suppose  all  girls  dream  of 
vines)  blessed  by  the  shade  of  ancestral 
elms  —  a  little  garden  redolent  with 
acacias  and  roses,  and  verbenas  and 
heliotrope  —  a  little  view  of  the  horizon, 
with  sunset  between  hills,  or  over  mo- 
tionless water  —  a  little  income,  suf- 

202 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

ficient  for  health,  and  warmth,  and 
stimulus,  and  a  mighty  love  that  passeth 
all  understanding,  and  that  lasteth  when 
eternity  is  counted  as  only  a  flash  of 
time ! 

I  shall  write  after  this  in  the  morn- 
ing. I  shall  arise  early  with  the  sun, 
when  the  air  is  pure  of  dust  and  uncon- 
taminated  by  humans.  I  know  then 
that  I  can  talk  to  you  more  clearly. 
For  then  I  shall  not  rhapsodise  over 
my  great  treasure,  and  the  love  I 
have  for  you.  The  heart  has  events 
that  I  do  not  dare  to  chronicle.  My 
pen  is  tipped  with  fire  from  an  altar 
no  longer  dedicated  to  an  Unknown 
God.  And  yet,  —  if  I  read  my  matin 
prayer  at  vespers  should  I  not  re- 
gret so  cold  a  letter?  Tell  me,  dear 
love,  when  shall  I  write,  for  I  would 
neither  blush  because  of  my  frankness, 
nor  regret  the  withholding  of  what  is 
yours.  You  have  a  luxurious  power 
203 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

over    me,    and    you    are    lord    of   my 
will. 

I  shall  not  cry  myself  to  sleep  until 
you  reassure  me  that  you  love  me. 

LAURIEL. 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 


Monday  Morning. 

ON  second  thoughts,  my  Rex,  I  will 
write  a  scrap  now,  though  it  is  only 
two  hours  from  noon.  I  feel  that  I  am 
cheating  time  and  distance,  for  when 
the  words  are  written,  my  heart  fancies 
that  they  receive  the  blessing  of  your 
eyes  at  once.  But  alas  !  I  cannot  dupe 
myself.  You  are  not  here,  and  I  refuse 
to  be  comforted. 

Far  on  the  horizon  of  the  Bay  of 
Tania  I  see  a  blotch  of  smoke.  What 
happy  carrier  does  it  presage  ?  My 
heart  beats  an  impatient  tattoo.  If  the 
steamer  were  freighted  with  a  letter 
from  you,  I  know  it  could  never  lag  so 
slowly  to  its  anchorage.  Oh,  the  pain, 
the  pain  of  love !  Sometimes  I  feel 
as  if  I  could  not  bear  it.  What  can 
you  men  know  of  the  suffering  of  a 
205 


L AU  R I E  L 

woman's  heart  when  she  has  invested 
all  there  is  of  her  in  her  love?  By 
noon  I  may  touch  your  letter  with 
my  lips. 

LAURIEL. 


206 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 


Monday,  Midnight. 

AH,  my  own !  It  was  only  a 
"  Tramp,"  ugly,  unpainted,  old  thing, 
and  I  should  have  known  it ;  for  never 
by  any  possibility  of  miracle  does  the 
mail  get  in  ahead  of  time.  It  was  one 
of  those  delusions  of  hope  that  are 
beginning  to  tease  my  soul.  This  neu- 
ralgia of  longing  sets  every  nerve  on 
edge,  so  that  I  start  at  a  sound,  and  am 
startled  by  fancies.  Can  any  lover 
fully  understand  the  perturbation  of 
mind  that  follows  this  gnawing  nostalgia 
of  the  heart?  If  any  one  can,  you 
do.  I  know  you  will  be  patient,  my 
king. 

We  had  another  golf  tournament  this 
afternoon.  Of  course  I  was  urged,  but 
did  not  play.  I  was  too  tired,  and  had 
to  hold  myself  up  for  a  dinner  at  the 
English  minister's,  which  Papa  wished 
207 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

me  to  attend.  I  am  now  worn  out,  but 
very  happy,  propped  up  in  my  easy 
chair;  for  I  am  at  last  alone  with  you. 
You  little  know  what  that  means. 
Shall  I  tell  you  one  thing  it  means  to 
your  Lauriel  ?  That  I  have  no  more 
enjoyment  in  what  are  called  fashion- 
able duties  and  triumphs.  You  are  a 
master-woodsman,  and  blazed  a  new 
path  through  my  life.  Standards  that 
once  seemed  true  and  necessary  have 
dissolved  into  nothingness.  They  have 
disappeared.  What  once  gave  me  hap- 
piness, or  perhaps  pleasure,  now  fills 
me  with  wonder  that  I  used  to  be  so 
silly.  Why  should  I  spend  a  half  an 
hour  talking  nonsense  with  a  man, 
when  I  might  have  that  time  with  you  ? 
What  is  his  admiration,  but  conceit 
trying  to  cross  the  threshold  of  pride, 
and  to  pass  into  the  heart  of  a  girl  pre- 
sumably modest  ?  Some  one  has  called 
flirtation  the  water-colour  of  love,  which 
208 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

is  washed  out  by  the  first  flood  of  real 
feeling. 

Ah,  dearest  one,  your  eloquence 
courted  me,  although  you  said  but 
little.  But  what  you  said,  and  what 
you  wrote,  and  what  you  looked,  all 
meant  the  one  thing  I  cared  more  for 
than  anything  else,  —  Truth.  Did  not 
Socrates  say  somewhere  that  the  only 
true  eloquence  was  truth-speaking? 
You  are  the  most  eloquent  man  I 
ever  knew,  and  the  most  irresistible. 
When  I  contrast  you  and  the  falseness 
around  me  —  the  rivalry,  the  intrigue, 
the  jealousies  and  the  hollowness  and 
weariness  —  I  glory  that  the  truest  man 
I  ever  knew  has  chosen  me.  Why,  it 
seems  to  me,  dear,  that  all  lives  around 
me  are  forgeries,  but  yours  and  mine. 
You  have  given  me  a  love  which  has 
become  my  religion  as  well  as  my  life. 
And  —  and  I  am  afraid  that  my  whole 
end  of  life,  now,  is  to  see  you  again. 
209 


L  AU  R  I  E  L 

Ah,  my  dear  Rex,  you  are  a  man, 
and  too  busy  to  have  your  imagination 
tormented  by  leisure.  I  must  be  busy, 
too,  and  cut  down  my  thoughts  of  you ; 
otherwise  I  shall  be  utterly  swallowed 
up  in  an  abyss  of  reverie.  Yet  it  would 
be  a  sweet  headlong  plunge  to  take.  I 
think  I  will  try  it. 

Good  night.  May  I  dream  of  your 
coming  to 

YOUR  LAURIEL? 


3X0 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 


Tuesday. 

MY  DARLING  :  —  I  send  this  to  the 
address  you  gave  me  to-day.  I  am  in 
a  whirlwind  of  indignation.  The  Grand 
Duke  Constantine  was  placed  at  my 
right  at  the  end  of  the  table,  with  the 
Turkish  minister  at  my  left.  Constan- 
tine was  the  only  member  of  the  royal 
family  present,  and  devoted  his  whole 
time  to  me,  in  spite  of  all  I  could  do  or 
say.  I  must  say  he  is  a  perfect  gen- 
tleman—  in  manner.  But  his  eyes 
frightened  me.  The  talk  drifted  to 
hypnotism,  and  he  made  the  remark 
that  strength  of  will  had  nothing  to 
do  in  protecting  the  subject  from  being 
influenced  by  the  operator.  He  then 
told  a  story  of  a  French  girl  who  was 
hypnotised  by  Doctor  Charcot  to  the 
extent  that  she  forgot  her  love  for  her 
fiance  and  married  another  man,  think- 

211 


L  AU  R  I  E  L 

ing  that  she  loved  him.  Doctor  Char- 
cot  has  never  allowed  her  to  recover 
from  this  imposed  idea.  She  is  per- 
fectly happy  in  the  delusion,  but  the 
lover  shot  himself  in  despair  on  being 
jilted.  The  duke  was  not  sure  (I  am 
bound  to  say)  whether  it  was  really 
Doctor  Charcot  or  some  other  operator 
who  did  the  thing. 

What  a  horrible  story!  and  what  a 
horrible  possibility !  Can  such  mon- 
strous influence  be  allowed  ?  Is  there 
no  law  forbidding  such  moral  vivisec- 
tion? If  hypnotic  suggestion  can  cut 
out  the  love  of  a  life  as  you  cut  out  an 
eye,  who  is  there  that  is  safe  ? 

After  dinner,  a  few  sample  hypnotic 
experiments  were  performed  by  the 
grand  duke,  who,  it  seems,  has  spent 
many  of  his  leisure  hours  in  a  profound 
study  of  this  terrible  science.  A  young 
swell  attache  proved  a  most  excellent 
subject.  I  was  not  amused,  I  was  suffo- 

212 


LA  URIEL 

cated,  and,  excusing  myself,  begged 
Aunt  Niobe  to  take  me  home.  The 
grand  duke  made  but  one  valuable 
statement.  He  said  he  could  prevent 
seasickness  just  by  a  few  passes  of  the 
hand  on  the  sufferer's  brow.  He  ac- 
counted for  that  by  the  fact  that  the 
suffering  is  primarily  mental  rather 
than  physical. 

When  Papa  came  home  and  found 
me  up  —  for  I  could  not  sleep  —  he  told 
me  flatly,  for  the  first  time,  that  I  miist 
marry  the  grand  duke ;  that  he  had 
given  his  word,  and  that  no  refusal 
would  be  taken.  I  dare  not  tell  you 
what  he  said  and  what  he  threatened. 
I  felt  like  a  modern  girl  transported  to 
a  mediaeval  tower. 

I  am  afraid  you  will  marry,  if  at  all,  a 
very  poor  girl  —  as  poor  as  any  red- 
skirted  peasant  maid  —  and  as  helpless. 
Would  you  love  me  just  the  same?  But 
don't  leave  me!  LAURIEL. 

213 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 


MY  DEAREST  HEART:  —  Your  letter 
has  just  come.  It  comforted  me  like 
protecting  arms.  I  feel  like  shouting 
the  first  line  of  the  first  Book  of  Vir- 
gil. Can  you  guess  who  would  be  the 
object  of  this  classical  quotation  ?  It  is 
so  good,  so  good  to  know  that  you  are 
not  far  away!  I  never  thought  of 
Corinth.  Why,  we  can  get  letters  to 
each  other  in  twenty-four  hours.  Think 
of  that!  This  luxury  of  nearness  is 
balsam  to  every  nerve  in  my  body. 
Perfect  love  may  cast  out  all  fear,  but 
it  doesn't  prevent  an  involuntary  shrink- 
ing of  the  heart. 

You  mustn't  be  worried  about  me. 
I  have  a  slight  recurrence  of  fever,  but 
this  is  counteracted  by  a  very  ram- 
pageous spirit  of  rebellion.  I  will  obey 
you  and  not  drink  any  more  water.  I 
214 


L A  U  R I  EL 

will  shun  water  as  I  would  a  funeral 
procession.  Command  me  again,  dear- 
est one.  Obedience  is  the  newly  ac- 
quired legal  fibre  of  a  loving  woman, 
and  she  wants  to  exercise  it.  Just  give 
me  a  chance,  and  see  me  bow  my  head 
in  subjection  to  your  royal  commands. 
I  was  getting  nervous,  and  your  pre- 
cious words  have  made  me  myself 
again.  Three  months  are  a  long  while 
to  wait,  but  we  will  do  it  bravely.  You 
ask  me  how  matters  stand.  I  will  tell 
you  exactly.  But  answer  me  this  ques- 
tion first.  I  have  given  so  fully  that  I 
must  be  assured  and  reassured. 

I  know  you  love  me,  dear,  but  how 
much  ?  Is  it  the  passion  that  deflects 
a  man's  life  ?  or  the  love  that  orders  it  ? 
Do  not  be  angry  at  my  question.  In 
the  current  of  your  love  for  me  do  all  the 
aims  of  your  life  run  ?  That  —  that 
alone  is  the  test  of  true  love.  For  you 
are  a  part  of  every  plan,  the  horizon  of 
215 


L  AU  R  I  E  L 

every  hope,  the  prophecy  of  the  past, 
and  the  fulfilment  of  my  future.  You 
are  my  all  in  all,  and  if  you  should  fail, 
I  could  not  believe  in  the  goodness  of 
God.  Goethe  says  somewhere  that 
"  every  moment  is  of  infinite  worth ; 
for  it  is  the  representation  of  a  whole 
eternity."  I  grudge  every  moment  of 
thought  spent  away  from  you.  For,  if 
I  cannot  speak  to  you  and  see  you,  I 
can  be  with  you,  and  feel  you  invisibly 
beside  me.  If  I  am  interrupted  in  this 
happiness,  I  feel  as  if  a  part  of  my  eter- 
nity with  you  had  been  trifled  away. 
You  active  man  —  can  you  feel  like 
that  ? 

Now  I  am  happier,  and  will  tell  you 
how  matters  stand.  I  could  not  write 
this  but  to  you.  I  wonder  if  poor  Papa 
is  beside  himself.  His  ambition  to  be 
the  godfather  to  this  land  of  tombs  and 
sour  wine  is  filling  his  head  with  delu- 
sions, That  he  has  given  his  word  to 
216 


L  A  U  RI  E  L 

Grand  Duke  Constantine  that  I  shall 
be  his  wife  is  evident  from  day  to  day. 
The  flowers  that  are  brought  to  me 
anonymously  every  morning  are  from 
Constantine.  They  are  sent  to  the  hos- 
pital immediately  upon  arrival.  Papa 
treats  our  engagement  as  a  farce,  —  a 
curtain  raiser  before  the  real  play,  and 
my  love  as  a  necessary  but  disagreeable 
incident  to  the  expansion  of  feminine 
experience.  "  Why  should  an  Ameri- 
can girl,"  he  says,  "  with  your  oppor- 
tunity, throw  herself  away  on  a  poor, 
unknown  American  man  ? "  This  is 
inconceivable  to  him,  now  that  he  is  in 
Illeria. 

Call  a  plain,  simple,  commonplace 
man  king;  give  him  a  marechal  de  la 
cour,  and  a  few  aides-de-camp ;  call 
the  lady  attendants  of  his  wife  dames 
d'honneur,  and  the  house  he  lives  in 
a  palace ;  give  him  an  unearned  income 
wrung  from  the  peasant,  who  is  taxed 
217 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

for  everything  he  has  except  fresh  air 
and  dirt,  and  nine-tenths  of  our  rich 
Americans  are  awed  by  the  stateliness, 
and  flustered  by  the  gilt  which  they 
never  would  have  noticed  had  not  the 
invitation,  the  chair,  and  the  plate  been 
stamped  by  a  crown.  I,  too,  was  ready 
to  fall  down  and  worship,  and  you  saved 
me  from  the  false  god.  It  is  so  plau- 
sible, so  brilliant  —  this  doublet  of  roy- 
alty. But  Papa  is  on  his  knees.  That 
tells  the  whole  story  of  his  threats  and 
insistence. 

But  I  am  very  strong  and  very  sure. 
I  have  in  my  heart  what  cannot  be 
daunted  or  cajoled.  If  only  the  fever, 
with  its  suffocating  hallucinations,  will 
keep  away!  Each  night  will  bring  me 
strength,  and  each  morning  hope  — 
each  hour  earnest  of  nearness  to  you. 

Do  not  be  impatient  to  see  me.  Am 
I  heartless  to  write  thus  ?  For  your 
promise  to  Papa  must  stand  like  a 
218 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

black  rock.  It  is  impossible  that  such 
love  as  ours  can  either  be  circum- 
vented or  fail.  If  God  did,  I  am  sure 
nature  would  not  allow  such  an  ava- 
lanche to  overwhelm  our  trust  in  her 
beneficence. 

You  must  have  heard  of  Ethel's 
engagement  to  Arthur  Newbury  long 
before  this.  I  sent  her  a  package  of 
love  and  little  remembrances  which  I 
hope  will  not  be  held  up  at  the  custom- 
house. There  ought  to  be  a  tax  on 
every  Yankee  father  who  allows  his 
daughter  to  marry  a  foreigner  above 
the  grade  of  a  gentleman,  —  say  two 
hundred  per  cent,  ad  valor  —  em. 

Will  you  obey  my  formula?  Put  a 
letter  every  day  into  the  post-office  and 
see  Lauriel  smile  ? 

Your  own  sweetheart,  L. 

Friday,  the  twelfth  of  January,  1900. 


219 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 


DEAREST  REX:  —  My  thoughts,  like 
homing  birds,  are  continually  flying  to 
you.  If  the  windows  are  closed,  they 
are  stifled  by  the  imprisonment,  and 
beat  for  freedom  on  the  panes.  Except 
in  the  stormiest  rain,  my  sashes  are 
never  down.  Can  you  understand  the 
utter  and  almost  hopeless  loneliness  of 
a  heart  shut  in  ?  So  I  throw  the  win- 
dow wide,  and  stand  and  breathe  your 
name,  and  wonder  why  you  do  not 
appear  at  my  call  —  my  wireless  sum- 
mons is  so  real. 

Every  word  in  your  short  letter  is 
treasurable.  Words  never  seemed  to 
me  such  sentient,  stirring  things.  I 
had  to  put  my  hand  up,  lest  the  page 
should  embrace  me.  Ah,  your  love  is 
wine,  and  your  words  are  fire.  I  looked 
for  more,  but  when  I  came  to  the  end 
I  shrank,  afraid  of  you.  It  was  all  said. 
220 


L  A  U  RI E  L 

The  blood  hasn't  left  my  cheek  yet. 
You  are  indeed  a  lover,  but  you  must 
not  write  me  so  madly.  You  know  I 
am  yours,  —  yours  as  I  never  dreamed 
of  being  to  any  man.  Nevertheless, 
you  have  the  right  of  conquest  to  love 
me  as  you  will.  This  is  strange  and 
beautiful.  You  make  me  tremble  with 
a  delicious  joy.  You  imprison  me  with 
your  power  of  loving.  The  conscious- 
ness of  your  love  is  transmuting  the 
silly,  vain,  arrogant,  and  demanding 
girl  into  a  nobler  womanhood,  I  think. 
You  are  my  Master  of  Dreams.  You 
have  enchanted  me ! 

Do  my  protestations  weary  you  ?  Oh, 
my  dear  love,  to  say  all  you  are  to 
me  would  be  more  than  any  one  can 
believe,  or  ever  understand. 

I  do  not  make  out  Papa  and  Aunt 
Niobe.  Papa  is  busy  at  something. 
I  think  he  is  installing  a  new  motor 
in  one  of  the  torpedo-boats  for  an 

221 


L  AU  R  I  E  L 

experiment.  He  expects  to  have  it 
ready  in  a  few  days.  The  royal  fam- 
ily are  much  more  interested  in  what 
he  is  doing  than  I  am.  He  is  always 
aiming  at  a  revolution  of  something. 
This  afternoon  Aunt  Lucy  drove  me 
to  see  some  excavations  that  are  carried 
on  by  the  French  School  of  Archae- 
ology, under  Monsieur  Constans.  The 
director  thinks  he  has  discovered  the 
site  of  an  ancient  temple.  Here  we 
could  see  nothing  but  ditches  and  a 
few  patches  of  covered  pavement. 

I  wonder  how  soon  these  archaeolo- 
gists will  be  bold  enough  to  reconstruct 
a  temple  four  thousand  years  old  out 
of  a  broken  column,  a  shattered  pave- 
ment, a  fragment  of  bas-relief,  and  an 
intaglio,  just  as  paleontologists  make 
up  a  prehistoric  reptile  out  of  a  bird- 
track,  a  shin-bone,  and  a  single  tooth. 

How  the  gods  and  the  old  priests 
must  chuckle  at  the  insolence  of  our 

222 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

creations  and  the  labelling  in  our  mu- 
seums !  This  digging  seemed  to  my 
untrained  mind  like  a  monstrous  dese- 
cration. This  madness  to  dismember 
tombs  and  uncover  buried  temples,  to 
pry  into  forgotten  palaces  and  disturb 
the  all-protecting  dust  of  centuries, — 
is  it  not  one  of  the  mockeries  of  our 
age? 

Is  nothing  sacred  from  our  colossal 
irreverence  ?  We,  too,  when  we  are 
dead,  shall  want  to  sleep  untouched  — 
and  when  our  homes  and  our  churches 
collapse  to  their  foundations,  and  the 
grit  of  centuries  obliterates  them,  we 
shall  pray  that  they  may  be  undiscov- 
ered by  foreign  vandals  who  would  jump 
our  quiet  claim  under  the  excuse  of 
scientific  research. 

But  one  thing  these  schools  of  archae- 
ology cannot  do  with  their  students 
and  their  picks,  —  they  cannot  destroy 
love.  Nor  can  they  discover  it  buried 
223 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

beneath  the  soil.  Nor  can  they  label 
it,  and  put  it  on  a  shelf  and  exhibit  it 
to  curious  eyes.  Is  not  such  love  as 
ours  the  only  thing  in  the  world  proof 
against  the  iconoclasts,  of  whom  there 
is  one  born  every  hour  in  each  century  ? 
It  cannot  be  entombed,  or  buried,  or 
lost;  it  lives  for  ever. 

Do  you  mind  my  talking  to  you  as 
the  thoughts  flow?  For  every  word  I 
utter,  everything  I  do,  has  its  spring  in 
the  love  that  has  possessed  me. 

They  found  a  little  tomb  on  the  side 
of  the  hill,  not  far  from  the  palace  of 
the  crown  prince,  last  year.  Before  an 
open  door  a  beautiful  young  girl  is 
carved,  sitting  with  head  bent  forward, 
peering  through  as  if  looking  into  the 
other  world,  searching  for  some  one 
dear.  The  inscription  under  this  beau- 
tiful bas-relief  reads :  "  Zoe  died  because 
Philo  did  not  return?  I  heard  of  it 
only  a  little  while  ago,  and  yesterday  I 
224 


L A  U  RI EL 

made  a  pilgrimage  to  the  shrine,  alone. 
As  I  looked  at  the  exquisite  picture  of 
grief,  and  read  the  simple  elegy  of  a 
broken  heart,  I  sat  down  and  cried  like 
a  child.  I  thought  how  she  loved  him, 
and  how  he  died  in  the  wars.  I  thought 
of  her,  faithful  and  broken-hearted,  en- 
shrined in  her  sorrow.  Then  I  won- 
dered what  she  said  to  him,  and  he  to 
her,  upon  the  day  she  died.  And  then 
I  thought  of  the  desecration.  I  felt  as 
if  she  had  been  uncovered  by  rude 
workmen,  her  eternal  love  the  subject 
of  jest  and  of  exhibition.  I  wanted  to 
put  my  arm  about  Zoe's  tomb,  and 
bury  it  for  ever  from  the  curious  world. 
Poor,  poor  Zoe !  But  her  love  is  like 
ours,  I  think,  independent  of  disap- 
pointment, and  the  master  of  time  — 
is  it  not  —  oh,  my  lover  ? 

LAURIEL. 

Sunday,  the  fourteenth. 


225 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 


Monday. 

MY  LOVE:  —  Only  a  moment  for  a 
talk  with  you  before  I  go  to  bed.  Each 
day  is  now  incomplete  to  me  unless  we 
have  exchanged  lives.  How  differently 
I  write  to  you  from  the  way  I  should 
write  even  to  the  dearest  woman  in  the 
world.  I  should  tell  her  all  about  whom 
I  met,  what  they  said,  between  whom  I 
sat  at  table,  and  I  should  give  the  whole 
menu.  Then  I  should  fill  a  page  or 
two  with  what  I  wore,  and  with  the 
other  ladies'  gowns,  and  if  royalty  were 
present  I  should  embalm  their  foolish 
words  like  violets  in  sugar,  the  sweetest 
morsel  for  the  feminine  gossip. 

But  I  cannot  write  like  this  to  you, 
as  I  did  to  Ethel,  for  instance.  Let  me 
quote  a  single  page,  just  as  I  wrote  to 
her,  dear  girl !  and  tell  me  if  you  want 
more.  I  am  describing  a  dance  on  a 
226 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

Russian  man-of-war.     Didn't  I  tell  you 
about  it?     Probably  not. 

"  About  three  o'clock  the  R.  F.  came, 
and  all  the  men  wore  Russian  uniforms 
but  Prince  George,  who  wore  his  cadet 
uniform.  Soon  after  we  danced  the 
first  quadrille,  and  I  danced  with  Duke 
Constantine "  (I  must  have  told  you 
about  this),  "  with  the  queen,  crown 
prince  and  princess,  and  several  other 
important  ones.  I  wore  my  black  gown 
and  black  velvet  hat,  and  could  see 
admiring  glances  as  I  danced  like  mad 
around  the  deck.  My  dress  was  not 
torn  at  all,  and  some  of  the  dresses 
were  torn  in  shreds.  I  was  dancing 
with  the  captain  of  the  ship,  when  the 
king,  who  was  standing  alone,  stopped 
me,  and  began  talking  to  me.  In  the 
course  of  the  conversation  he  spoke 
about  George,  who  was  standing  oppo- 
site us.  I  said  I  was  surprised  to  see 
George  here  this  afternoon,  for  he  told 
227 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

me  at  Lady  Castleton's  that  he  would 
not  go  to  balls.  He  is  almost  twenty- 
one,  and  won't  be  a  lieutenant  before 
spring.  So  he  has  to  study  hard,  and 
goes  out  but  little,  and  as  permitted. 
'Your  Majesty,'  I  asked,  'won't  you 
let  him  come  to  the  legation  after  the 
tournament  Saturday  ? '  '  For  what  ? ' 
the  king  demanded.  '  My  aunt  is  ask- 
ing all  that  play  to  come  in  for  a  cup 
of  tea.  It  will  be  absolutely  informal.  I 
pray  you  to  let  him  come.' 

"  The  king  gave  me  a  sharp  glance, 
and  replied,  '  Yes,  he  may  come.'  Soon 
after  that  I  joined  Aunt  Niobe  and 
Aunt  Lucy,  and  beckoned  to  George, 
who  hurried  over.  He  was  perfectly 
delighted  when  we  told  him  the  king 
had  given  him  permission.  '  I  never 
could  have  gone,  otherwise,'  he  said, 
joyously." 

There !  My  royal  master !  Do  you 
want  such  letters  ?  As  I  copy,  it  seems 
228 


L A  U  R I  EL 

to  have  been  written  by  another  girl. 
These  are  no  longer  events,  but  just 
incidents  chronicled  to  amuse  Ethel. 
Who  finds  it  worth  while  to  part  the 
gilded  veil  ?  When  you  once  enter 
within,  it  is  just  like  other  places  and 
other  people  —  no  more,  and  no  less. 
But  we  girls  like  these  foamy  cascades 
of  detail.  They  satisfy  a  woman  and 
confound  a  man.  But  Prince  George 
is  a  dear,  and  I  am  afraid  that  I  have 
not  written  you  enough  about  him  and 
the  pleasant  cameraderie  that  exists 
between  us.  He  is  my  devoted  follower, 
and,  like  a  knight  of  old,  only  wishes  he 
could  fight  dragons  for  my  blond  sake. 
I  must  tell  you,  as  this  is  a  gossipy 
letter,  that  I  am  invited  on  the  trial 
trip  of  the  torpedo-boat.  It  will  take 
place  in  two  or  three  weeks,  and  will 
be  wildly  exhilarating.  Of  course  I 
shall  go.  Papa  rather  urges  me  not  to. 
But  I  want  to  breathe  the  swift-rushing 
229 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L  * 

air.  How  I  miss  my  "runaway!"  A 
hurricane  could  not  choke  me.  It 
would  simply  make  me  feel  perfect. 
This  sounds  a  little  girlish.  If  you 
loved  the  water  as  I  do,  you  would 
understand  the  regenerating  power  of 
salt  spray  and  gale  combined.  I  only 
wish  you  were  going.  That — that 
would  be  perfect,  indeed. 

You  do  not  know,  dearest  heart,  how 
I  long  to  share  every  pleasure  with  you. 
Indeed,  you  have  come  to  seem  not  so 
much  yourself,  as  the  merging  of  all 
things  that  are  or  ever  were  in  my  life. 
You  are  the  interpreter  of  the  world  to 
me.  The  wiles,  the  mysteries  that  used 
to  puzzle  me,  are  through  your  dear  eyes 
as  plain  to  me  as  flaring  advertisements. 

I  wear  your  silver  chain  around  my 
neck.  It  came  only  this  morning,  with 
your  letter.  I  am  glad  the  beads  are 
not  gold.  Their  simplicity  enraptures 
me.  Every  bead  I  touch  tells  me  of  a 
230 


LA  URIEL 

new  joy  you  have  bestowed  upon  me.  I 
shall  repeat  these  every  night  —  love's 
breviary.  I  want  to  tell  the  whole  round 
world  of  my  pride  in  you,  beloved.  I 
ought  to  be  a  thousandfold  more  wom- 
anly, so  that  I  might  give  each  moiety 
of  what  I  am  to  you.  I  am  yours,  and 
you  are  my  all  in  all.  I  touch  my  lips 
to  your  name. 

LAURIEL. 


231 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 


Thursday,  the  Eighteenth. 
BELOVED  :  —  Fiction  is  indeed  only 
the  lacquer  of  life.  Lives,  especially 
those  of  the  humdrum  variety,  so  easily 
lose  their  brilliancy,  that  they  need  to 
be  polished  up  with  a  fictitious  varnish, 
or  crimes  are  committed  for  very  ennui. 
I  send  you  "  The  Cap  and  Bells."  It 
is  the  kind  of  a  novel  that  grows  nec- 
tarines in  conservatories,  and  vivisects 
the  heart's  emotions  without  adminis- 
tering anaesthetics.  It  is  surprisingly 
clean,  and  in  passages,  though  not  as  a 
whole,  powerful.  I  have  heard  it  said 
of  books  like  this :  "  You  can  polish 
strength,  but  you  cannot  strengthen 
polish."  It  is  a  product  of  the  decadent 
school  that  is  Philistine  toward  the 
noble,  and  incredulous  of  that  love 
which  seeks  no  devious  by-paths  for  its 
expression,  and  which  purifies  even  as 
232 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

it  blesses.  I  have  marked  certain  pas- 
sages for  future  discussion.  Do  you 
fully  realise,  my  heart,  that  I  do  not 
have  a  new  thought  but  that  I  plot  to 
share  it  with  you  ? 

Oh,  I  am  sick  of  the  modern  heresy ! 
Let  them  deny  God  —  it  can't  hurt 
him.  He  is  too  great  for  a  flippant 
understanding.  But  how  dare  they 
deny  Love  ?  A  woman  may  forswear 
her  religion  —  it  generally  is  only 
ecclesiastical ;  how  can  she  forswear 
her  life?  My  beautiful  pagan  Zoe, 
peering  all  these  centuries  through 
the  mysterious  door,  waiting  —  waiting 
for  the  never-returning. lips,  outshames 
the  whole  of  us.  What  is  our  society 
coming  to,  when  jilting  is  the  fashion, 
and  insincerity  has  become  an  art  ?  I 
do  not  think,  dearest,  that  my  love  for 
you  makes  me  prudish  or  priggish ;  it 
renders  me  the  more  jealous  for  my  sex. 
Just  as  fashions  sift  from  Paris  to  our 
233 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

richest  society  leaders,  down  the  social 
scale  gradually,  until  in  two  or  three 
years'  time  they  are  acclaimed  in  pro- 
vincial county  seats,  so,  unfortunately, 
the  manners  of  the  rich  are  copied 
until,  with  one  scandal  in  high  life,  you 
have  a  thousand  county  jilts  who  read 
the  papers  and  wish  to  be  in  fashion. 
I  am  troubled,  dear.  If  I  am.  unchar- 
itable, rebuke  me.  But  it  seems  as  if  a 
pure  love,  that  ought  to  be  the  binding 
of  two  people,  and  the  cement  of  the 
nation,  is  too  often  made  ridiculous  by 
the  caustic  pen  of  the  popular  author, 
and  has  become  the  butt  of  the  poet 
and  the  wit.  The  love  that  makes 
hearts  pastoral  is  becoming  the  excep- 
tion, and  the  clutch  for  diamonds,  the 
"  pull "  for  position,  and  the  lie  for 
leadership  —  this  is  the  rule. 

Ah,  my  dear,  dear  love !     I  cling  to 
you  as  I  do  to  God.     Hold  me  strongly. 
Such  love  as  ours  must  have  its  mis- 
234 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

sion.  Define  for  me  its  limits.  Am  I 
too  serious  ?  Do  I  love  too  deeply  ? 
I  know  too  much  reading  deadens  the 
elasticity  of  my  thoughts.  Does  too 
much  loving  bound  my  horizon  ? 

I  kiss  my  hand  to  Corinth.      Good 
night. 

LAURIEL. 


L A  U  R I  EL 


Saturday  Morning. 

MY  BELOVED  REX  :  —  I  read  your  let- 
ter through  tears.  It  so  lately  came 
from  you.  I  thought  I  knew  you,  but 
each  word  brings  me  a  new  man.  I 
do  not  know  whether  to  be  afraid  of 
you,  or  to  love  more  eagerly.  I  look 
upon  you  as  my  superior  in  every  way. 
You  are  older  —  more  experienced  —  so 
strong  in  self-possession  and  unassaila- 
ble in  your  dignity.  Ah,  my  heart !  You 
do  not  know  how  much  a  woman  craves 
a  sure,  sure  refuge — arms  that  can 
never  rebuff,  regret,  or  betray.  So  it 
happens,  as  it  did  with  one  of  my  class- 
mates, that  a  girl,  tired  with  admiration 
and  distrusting  the  instincts  of  her  own 
heart,  chooses  the  man  she  has  known 
from  her  earliest  girlhood,  an  old  play- 
mate-lover, who  has  always  guarded  her 
from  snakes  and  teasing,  —  and  she 
236 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

marries  him,  and  lives  contented  for 
ever  after.  So  I  began  to  love  you 
because  you  were  the  most  trustworthy 
man  I  knew;  but  now  I  love  you  be- 
cause you  are  You.  Why,  you  royal 
creature !  You  are  as  eager  as  a  boy 
of  twenty,  and  your  letters  are  the  heart- 
beats of  my  life.  The  intensity  of  your 
feeling  crushes  me.  I  have  been  told 
that  emeralds  pounded  and  ground  emit 
the  delicate  odour  of  violets ;  and  violets, 
when  macerated,  yield  their  delicate  per- 
fume. Would  that  you  could  take  me 
in  your  mighty  arms  and  love  me  —  for 
I  am  yours,  and  I  know  you  would  be 
kind  to  me. 

Each  day  brings  its  peculiar  longing. 
To-day  it  is  a  longing  for  you  to  share 
my  golf  and  tea  this  afternoon.  You 
see  I  am  writing  in  the  morning.  I 
could  not  wait  until  night  —  I  am  so 
eager.  The  American  minister  to 
Persia  came  yesterday,  and  is  our  guest 
237 


L  AU  R  I  E  L 

for  a  day  or  so.     He  has  a  superb  tenor 
voice. 

Last  night  he  played  and  sang 
Schubert's  divine  serenade,  "  Komm, 
Begliiche  Mich."  Every  note  pierced 
me  until  I  thought  I  should  die  of 
longing.  The  need  of  the  heart  when 
it  loves !  When  do  I  not  need  you  ? 
But  there  are  times  when  it  is  stimu- 
lated by  music  or  by  the  vastness 
of  the  sea,  or  by  the  eternity  of  night, 
until  it  is  almost  impossible  to  bear  the 
pain. 

So  I  have  awaked  to  you  this  morn- 
ing as  I  always  do  —  but  a  little  more 
nearly  than  ever  before.  As  lovers  we 
seem  to  be  side-tracked  for  a  time,  but 
my  heart  runs  express  to  you. 

I  am  going  to  play  in  a  foursome  with 
a  young  man  from  Boston,  who  is  at 
the  American  School.  He  knows 
Arthur  Newbury  and  many  other 
friends  of  ours.  He  is  the  kind  who 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

makes  the  "  smashing "  drives  and 
"  screaming "  brassies  you  read  about 
in  the  sporting  papers.  He  is  very 
young,  only  twenty-three,  and  won  the 
golf  championship  of  Harvard  last  year. 
He  always  plays  with  a  pipe  in  his 
mouth,  which  he  puffs  savagely  as  he 
puts.  We  expect  to  win  the  tourna- 
ment, although  we  only  get  a  handicap 
of  six.  I  shall  play  exactly  as  if  you 
were  offering  the  prize,  instead  of  the 
crown  princess.  Prince  George  has 
asked  permission  to  take  snap-shots  of 
me  while  I  play,  and  Constantine  and 
Lady  Castleton  are  going  to  be  our 
opponents  on  the  two  rounds.  Do  not 
worry  your  mind  about  him ;  he  is  most 
respectful,  and  though  he  looks  at  me 
pretty  steadily,  he  speaks  but  little. 
Only  I  wish  people  would  not  throw 
us  so  much  together.  It  would  be 
easier  for  him.  How  little  he  knows 
that  when  he  is  saying  foolish  things  to 
239 


L  A  U  RI  E  L 

me  I  am  repeating  your  name  secretly. 
And  when  I  am  in  a  crowd  of  butter- 
flies and  beetles,  my  consolation  is  that 
I  retire  to  you.  And  when  a  look  of 
happiness  breaks  from  my  control,  how 
easily  they  mistake  the  radiance  that  is 
the  reflection  of  constancy  for  the  smile 
of  volatility. 

What  a  beautiful  thing  is  this  dual 
life !  I  do  not  think  I  give  the  impres- 
sion of  a  love-sick  girl.  Indeed,  but 
two  or  three  know  of  our  engagement. 
It  was  Papa's  wish,  you  know.  I  smile 
and  chatter  while  my  heart  breaks  for 
you.  I  golf  and  dance,  while  my  star 
ruby  and  I  hold  conversations.  I  dress 
and  dine  while  I  am  starving  for  your 
dear  face.  And  yet  I  glory  in  the  ex- 
clusive knowledge  of  this  love  of  ours. 
For  to  love  you  is  to  find  new  treasures 
in  every  other  relation  of  life.  I  dare 
not  tell  you  all  I  feel,  lest  I  seem  extrav- 
agant ;  for  in  the  least,  as  well  as  in  the 
240 


L  A  U  R 


greatest  event,  you  are  beside  me,  and 
often  outrun  me. 

So,  we  shall  be  together  while  I  play, 
and  at  the  tea,  and  I  shall  pass  a  cup 
for  you,  put  in  a  lump  of  sugar  and  a 
slice  of  lemon,  and  drink  the  toast: 
"  May  the  daughter  of  fortune  never 
discover  us." 

Prince  George  will  be  there,  and  we 
shall  have  a  nice  chat.  He  is  a  dear 
boy,  and  I  love  him  —  like  an  elder 
sister. 

Papa  is  ailing.  We  are  afraid  he  is 
going  to  have  a  touch  of  fever.  He 
is  overwrought,  poor  man,  and  over- 
worked. Sometimes  my  conscience 
whips  me  because  of  my  happiness. 
Tell  me,  dear  heart,  am  I  right  to  diso- 
bey my  father?  I  cannot  bear  to  see 
him  miserable  because  I  am  happy. 
The  grand  duke  is  going  to  give  Papa 
treatment  if  he  does  not  get  well  in  a 
few  days.  Constantine  has  the  power 
241 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

in  him  of  doing  much  good.  In  many 
respects  he  is  a  noble  man,  perhaps  the 
best  of  the  Illerian  lot,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  the  king  and  queen  and  George. 
But  he  frightens  me  with  his  undaunted 
persistency.  "  Why,  Miss  Livingstone," 
said  he  the  other  day,  "  I  understand 
that  in  some  parts  of  your  country  a 
young  lady  may  be  engaged  to  several 
gentlemen  at  once,  and  that  when  she 
is  engaged,  it  is  the  signal  for  men  who 
never  thought  of  being  lovers  to  spring 
up  and  court  her,  each  one  hoping  to 
become  the  favoured  suitor." 

"  But  that  is  only  in  the  South,  your 
Highness,"  I  answered.  "  In  the  North, 
when  a  girl  is  engaged,  the  other  gentle- 
men do  not  pursue  her." 

"  How  very  stupid  it  must  be,"  he 
said  ;  then, "  Are  you  not  a  Southerner  ? " 

"  Neither  in  birth  nor  in  habit,"  I 
answered  with  great  hauteur.  "  Can 
you  not  understand,"  I  added,  "that 
242 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

when  a  woman  gives  her  whole  heart 
she  has  nothing  left  which  can  be 
appealed  to  ? " 

"  But  if  she  changes  her  heart  ?  " 
"  An  American  girl,  your  Highness, 
does  not  do  that,  lightly."  With  that  I 
curtsied  and  turned;  but  I  could  feel 
his  black  eyes  following  me.  They  did 
not  hurt.  For  your  love  is  my  armour. 
If  I  were  not  myself  proof  against  their 
easy  skirmishes,  you  would  save  me. 
What  different  moods  greet  different 
men !  You  melt  me,  while  the  duke 
crystallises. 

Aunt  Niobe  is  calling  at  the  door, 
which  I  have  locked  when  I  am  closest 
to  you.  Until  the  world  is  shut  out 
to-night  —  L. 


243 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 


Eleven  at  night. 

I  am  sure,  my  royal  lover,  that  it 
would  be  proper  for  you  to  see  me  in 
my  pink  silk  dream-robe  trimmed  with 
ermine.  My  hair  is  braided  down  my 
back,  and  it  pulls  at  me  as  I  sit  upon  it. 
I  am  cool  and  com'fy,  and  with  you. 
What  happiness  not  to  see  a  living  soul 
until  my  eyes  feasted  on  you  again ! 
That  would  be  almost  the  same  as 
dwelling  with  you  altogether.  I  feel 
my  nature  weakened  by  the  social  de- 
mands made  upon  me,  and  alloyed  by 
the  contact  with  women  and  men  of 
low  longings.  So  my  daily  letter  to 
you  is  an  act  of  purification,  and  I  could 
not  sleep  without  being  thus  hallowed 
by  your  love  any  more  than  I  could 
without  bathing  my  face. 

Aunt  Niobe  has  just  left  me.  She 
accused  me  of  being  romantic,  and  of 
244 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

throwing  myself  away  upon  an  older 
man,  who  cannot  appreciate  my  "  deli- 
cate temperament."  For  once  she 
had  the  taste  not  to  speak  of  "poverty 
flaunting  itself  in  the  face  of  wealth." 
Oh,  these  self-seeking,  frigid  souls,  who 
cannot  conceive  of  the  emotion  that 
the  happiness  of  loving  engenders  in 
the  heart !  How  can  she  understand 
that  whatever  is  most  delicate  in  my 
temperament  has  been  educated  by 
love?  She  urges  me  toward  that  un- 
known and  'untasted  sensation  which 
an  unnatural  society  produces,  and  that 
a  pervert  craves.  What  false  feelings 
are  these,  compared  with  the  inspira- 
tions that  come  when  the  soul  is  intent 
upon  a  fixed  star ! 

How  many  a  night  I  have  looked  out 
of  the  window  upon  a  star,  praying  that 
I  might  be  uplifted  toward  it,  out  of 
the  petty  whirl  that  engulfs  so  many  of 
the  best  of  us !  Then  you  came,  —  you 
245 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

plucked  the  star  of  my  dreams  and 
kissed  it  on  my  finger,  —  and  my  eyes 
are  fixed  upon  its  ruby  heart,  and  always 
will  be,  until  death.  For  you  have  taken 
to  your  life  a  girl  who  only  lives  by  the 
heart,  and  her  heart  is  yours. 

LAURIEL. 


246 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 


Sunday. 

MY  DEAREST  HEART:  —  We  are  so 
upset!  The  whole  house  is  in  a  flut- 
ter. Your  fiancee  has  been  rushing 
to  and  fro,  with  dishevelled  hair,  trying 
to  calm  Aunt  Niobe  and  encourage 
Papa.  It  happens  that  uncle  is  away, 
and  Aunt  Lucy,  who  believes  in  mus- 
tard plasters,  and  anything  that "  draws," 
is  in  her  element  of  motherly  kindness 
and  sympathy.  Papa  has  been  very 
ill.  He  was  taken  sick  at  six  this 
morning,  and  steadily  grew  worse  until 
noon.  The  doctor  could  do  nothing. 
They  say  it  is  a  phase  of  the  native 
fever.  He  was  quite  out  of  his  head 
a  part  of  the  time,  and  talked  very 
strangely.  To  make  a  long  story  short, 
he  begged  me  to  send  for  Duke  Con- 
stantine,  which  I  finally  did  —  or, 
247 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

rather,  Aunt  Niobe  sent  a  note  to  him 
by  messenger. 

It  is  now  five,  and  Papa  is  sleeping 
quietly,  and  the  worst  is  over.  Aunt 
Niobe  said  that  the  duke  put  him  to 
sleep  with  passes  over  his  head,  and 
that  he  adjured  the  fever  to  leave,  as 
you  would  an  evil  spirit.  I  was  not 
allowed  to  be  present,  and  Aunt  Niobe 
is  sometimes  hysterical.  At  any  rate, 
Papa  is  better,  and  we  are  all  trying  to 
rest.  It  was  good  of  the  duke  to  come, 
and  we  shall  never  forget  his  kindness 
to  Papa,  although  we  do  not  quite  un- 
derstand his  therapeutics.  I  suppose 
you  might  as  well  put  hypnotism  and 
Christian  Science  in  a  bottle,  shake 
them  up,  and  then  administer  the  con- 
coction with  a  prayerful  conscience. 
At  least,  it  would  be  warranted  not 
to  kill. 

So  here  I  am  in  my  room,  writing, 
and  a  little  shaken  by  the  day's  events. 
248 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

If  it  were  not  you,  I  should  be  trying  to 
sleep.  As  if  I  could  rest  without  blaz- 
ing my  way  to  you  each  day ! 

Just  before  I  took  up  the  pen,  my 
head  had  fallen  back  on  the  easy  chair, 
and  I  almost  dozed  —  I  was  so  tired. 
Memories  of  my  childhood  swept  over 
me  like  swallows  in  autumn  flight.  I 
did  not  know  it  then,  but  it  was  you 
I  sought  when  I  used  to  roam  in  the 
woods  where  elves  mocked  my  vain 
search  ;  when  I  knelt  beside  the  meadow 
brook  trying  to  follow  the  cresses  to 
their  birthplace,  for  there  fairies  were 
surely  feeding  upon  them ;  when  I 
searched  the  fields  for  the  earliest  vio- 
lets, and  then  spread  them  on  a  little 
mound,  fancying  it  the  burial-place  of 
an  unknown  loved  one,  who  had  died 
fighting  ogres  to  rescue  his  sweetheart. 
And  there  was  an  old  oak,  with  a  won- 
derful decayed  trunk,  where  I  could 
hide.  There  I  used  to  build  a  house, 
249 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

all  portioned  off  with  broken  glass,  and 
there  I  used  to  go  every  day  and  live 
with  my  lover,  and  no  one  ever  found 
it  out.  But  best,  and  really-truly-est  of 
all,  by  the  moss-grown  stone  wall,  was 
the  secret  post-office.  The  boy  I  loved 
with  all  my  heart  never  found  my  let- 
ters. I  never  saw  him  until  last  spring, 
and  he  never  knew  what  was  written  to 
him,  for  I  used  to  answer  them  myself. 
I  used  to  call  him  "  Earl."  I  thought  it 
a  beautiful  name,  and  used  to  repeat  it 
as  an  incantation  to  protect  me  from  all 
evil,  —  and  all  the  time  it  was  Rex, — 
I  was  stupid  blind,  that  was  all.  For 
you  were  then  as  you  are  now,  king  of 
my  day-dreams,  and  royal  commander 
of  the  Islands  of  the  Blessed  —  where 
my  soul  nightly  departs  for  sweet  dis- 
course and  benediction.  A  reverent 
awe  creeps  into  my  love;  it  summons 
tears  that  are  not  far  off. 

I  tried  yesterday  to  pick  up  a  novel. 
250 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

I  dropped  it  in  disgust.  What  is  so 
flat  as  a  love  story  when  one  loves ! 
These  great  masters  of  love  literature 
no  longer  seem  so  wonderful  as  they 
did.  They  paint  happiness,  but  I  feel 
it.  Balzac  wrote  what  I  am.  He  is  no 
longer  my  master.  He  is  only  groping 
after  the  great  secret  which  God  has 
given  you  and  me  to  possess. 

It  is  one  thing  to  read  a  drama,  but 
it  requires  a  dreadful  energy  to  live 
a  drama  and  appear  a  spectator.  I  try 
so  hard  to  be  calm  and  unapproachable 
and  dignified.  The  smiles  come  easily, 
for  happily  the  grooves  run  that  way  in 
my  face.  And  I  love  to  please ;  fortu- 
nately I  inherit  from  my  mother  the 
ease  and  joy  in  doing  it.  But  —  what 
used  to  come  naturally  are  often  tragic 
efforts  now,  and  sometimes  merely 
comic  attempts.  I  seem  to  be  looking 
on,  or  acting  from  afar  off  —  almost  as 
far  as  Corinth.  You  know  what  my  real 

251 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

life  is  —  you  to  whom  I  give  my  most 
precious  hours.  Forgive  my  writing. 
It  becomes  illegible  only  because  I  am 
writing  to  the  person  I  love.  My  eager- 
ness to  touch  your  life  hastens  my  hand 
beyond  control. 

Yours  constantly, 

LAURIEL. 


252 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 


MY  ROYAL  :  —  I  met  to-day  one  of 
those  angelic  monstrosities  that  make 
the  heart  sick.  She  was  so  beautiful, 
this  English  demon,  and  so  perfectly 
gowned!  With  a  glance  she  measures 
a  man.  Is  he  worth  exertion  ?  or  is  he 
fair  prey?  The  eyes,  drooping  a  la 
Merode,  shoot  invitations. 

Since  she  has  had  a  maid  and  a 
coiffure,  her  heart  has  ceased  to  beat. 
It  has  not  turned  to  stone,  but  has  been 
diluted  to  vanity,  —  that  inordinate  and 
starving  vanity  which  demands  a  new 
sensation  and  a  new  man  every  day. 
Her  intoxication  is  to  inspire  him  with 
love.  It  is  thus  she  invokes  within  her 
own  nature  a  ghost,  —  a  shade  of  the 
love  she  can  never  feel.  With  this  she 
sports  until,  tired  of  the  game,  she  fixes 
it  with  a  surprised  stare,  and  consigns  it 
to  its  peculiar  Hades.  With  sugges- 
253 


L  AU  RI  E  L 

tion,  invitation,  and  carefully  rehearsed 
glances,  this  hypocrite  of  love  prepares 
her  victim  for  the  final  stab,  which  no 
surgeon  can  ever  entirely  heal.  Ah, 
my  dear  love,  you  must  have  met  such 
vampires. 

Do  not  tell  me  about  it.  I  have 
always  felt  that  you  must  have  had  some 
experience  which  has  made  you  the 
strong  and  guiding  man  you  are.  I 
would  rather  a  woman  were  bad,  and 
were  honest  about  it,  than  one  of  these 
subtle  courtesans  of  the  intellect  whose 
sole  aim  in  life  is  to  convert  a  good  man 
into  a  devil. 

This  woman  proceeded,  on  introduc- 
tion, to  tell  me  of  her  wonderful  collec- 
tion of  the  photographs  of  famous  men 
who  had  flirted  with  her.  She  had 
often  travelled  from  one  country  to 
another  simply  to  conquer  a  man  of 
whom  she  had  heard.  Such  flirtation 
is  only  the  quest  of  the  heart's  mirage. 
254 


LA  URIEL 

She  is  now  visiting  with  her  cousin 
Lady  Castleton,  for  a  few  weeks  after  a 
most  exciting  campaign. 

"  Did  he  propose  ?  " 

"  You  delicious  innocent !  "  was  the 
answer.  "  Why,  there  were  eight  of 
them.  I  must  show  you  my  proposal 
book  sometime.  What  pleasure  should 
I  have  if  they  didn't  propose  ? " 

"  I  don't  suppose  you  have  ever  been 
engaged,  then  ? " 

The  lady  of  triumphs  eyed  me  with 
irony.  Her  eyes  are  cold  as  liquid  air. 
Their  whole  expression  of  warmth  and 
passion  is  only  simulated  by  the  raising 
and  lowering  of  the  lids.  Her  voice 
sounds  like  the  dropping  of  pebbles  in 
a  well. 

"  My  dear  child,"  she  murmured,  and 
she  is  over  thirty,  if  she  is  a  day,  al- 
though she  confesses  to  twenty-four, 
"the  only  fun  in  life  is  in  engaging 
without  being  engaged." 
255 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

Ah,  but  dearest,  this  all  seems  so 
unworthy  of  our  great  love — to  speak 
of  this  creature  in  the  same  breath 
with  it.  Her  very  presence  suffocates, 
her  words  poison,  and  her  looks  degrade  ; 
while  this  love  of  ours  invigorates,  sus- 
tains, and  ennobles. 

"  I  am  not  happy,"  said  my  little  flirt, 
"  unless  I  am  surrounded  and  playing 
one  off  against  another."  I  suppose 
she  thought  she  was  instructing  a  neo- 
phyte in  the  old,  old  maze.  I  did  not 
tell  her  that  I  find  my  greatest  happi- 
ness in  the  night  hours,  when  the  house 
is  quiet,  an^  solitude  is  my  only  guest, 
and  when  the  clock  ticks  a  sympathetic 
accompaniment  to  my  most  inward 
thoughts. 

What  a  hindrance  to  expression  is 
the  art  of  writing !  I  cannot  explain 
how  I  feel,  but  I  could  tell  you  all  in  a 
single  look.  For,  the  longer  I  am 
alone  with  you,  the  higher  becomes  my 
256 


•L  AU  RI  E  L 

ideal  of  true  happiness.  When  I  want  to 
give  myself  a  fete,  I  lie  down  on  the  sofa 
and  close  my  eyes  and  absorb  my  fancy  in 
the  silly  things  I  will  say  when  we  meet. 

Papa  is  much  better  and  we  have  had 
another  serious  talk.  I  must  yield,  or 
he  will  disinherit  me.  That  is  the  plain 
truth  of  it.  He  is  not  unkind,  he  is 
simply  resolved.  To  become  nurse  of 
a  nation  is  his  imperious  passion.  It 
will  not  require  much  effort  for  you 
to  imagine  the  stand  your  girl  took. 
Ah,  this  only  makes  me  cling  the  closer. 
All  I  want  is  liberty  —  on  a  high  moun- 
tain or  in  the  broad  bosom  of  the  sea — 
with  you. 

How  beautiful  is  life!  I  am  tryirtg 
to  drink  the  cup  of  joy,  for  my  heart 
beats  strongly,  and  all  the  riches  in  the 
world  are  less  than  one  hour  of  love  and 
you.  Ah,  you  know  that  I  would 
rather  have  one  happy  day  than  be 
empress  of  the  world. 
257 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

It  was  not  hard,  dearest,  for  me  to 
stand  with  you,  but  it  was  bitterly  hard 
to  stand  against  dear,  dear  Papa.  The 
scene  has  left  me  weak  and  very  tired. 
How  strange  to  feel  so  invincible  of 
courage,  and  so  feeble  of  body!  It 
makes  me  feel  differently  toward  those 
who  sin.  Do  you  understand  ?  I  am 
a  tired  little  girl  to-night.  I  shall  reso- 
lutely shut  out  all  my  happy  thoughts 
and  go  to  sleep  hemstitching  a  handker- 
chief. Sheep  never  go  over  a  wall  for 
me ;  a  collie  always  breaks  them  up. 
But  can  I  help  being  a  dreamer  and 
weaving  my  garland  of  dreams  ?  What- 
ever I  may  see  in  that  unknown  coun- 
try that  is  beautiful  shall  speak  to  me 
with  your  dear  voice. 

Am  I  the  "  Lady  of  your  Thoughts  ?  " 
Tell 

LAURIEL. 

Tuesday,  the  23d. 


258 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 


Wednesday. 

MY  ROYAL  HEART  :  —  You  blame  me 
for  not  answering  your  letters  in  fuller 
detail.  When  they  come  I  devour  them 
at  a  glance.  Then  I  breathe,  for  there 
is  always  a  clutching  at  the  heart  and  a 
suffocation  at  the  mere  sight  of  your 
hand.  Then  I  study  it,  and  when  I 
know  it  by  heart,  I  put  it  in  a  little 
drawer  and  turn  the  key  and  it  is  mine ! 

Ah,  dearest  heart,  you  cannot  know 
how  little  I  estimate  the  historical  value 
of  daily  events.  What  do  I  care  now 
what  I  eat,  what  I  wear,  and  what  people 
say !  The  king  may  smile ;  so  do  I. 
He  speaks,  as  if  through  a  long-dis- 
tance telephone ;  I  am  at  the  end  — 
with  you.  These  other  people  are  but 
living  pictures  in  a  moving  gallery  ;  but 
through  this  human  veil  I  see  you  — 
and  only  you.  Is  this  unmaidenly  to 
2S9 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

say?  Why  should  I  not  tell  you  every- 
thing that  I  feel  ?  As  it  is,  I  do  not 
confide  in  you  a  hundredth  part. 

You  remember  the  three  mysteries 
that  perplexed  the  oldest  ancients  that 
ever  lived,  the  flight  of  a  bird,  the 
course  of  a  ship,  and  the  way  of  a  man. 
You,  my  noble  love,  have  solved  the 
most  difficult  of  these  in  a  way  that 
leaves  nothing  to  be  desired.  The  man- 
liness that  dares  and  has  the  "  strength 
of  ten  because  the  heart  is  pure,"  will 
always  win  the  maid  of  its  desire.  I 
could  no  more  have  escaped  your  love 
than  the  dove  could  have  failed  to  rest 
upon  the  one  branch  which  the  descend- 
ing flood  uncovered  to  its  exhausted 
flight. 

You  must  not  be  troubled  that  I  am 
not  well  to-day.  Never  has  my  love 
beat  stronger,  or  clung  closer.  You  say 
that  I  am  the  only  one  in  the  world. 
How  much  more  are  you  to  me  —  you 
260 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

who  are  strong  and  able  to  protect. 
Perhaps  I  may  need  your  power,  my 
Royal,  sooner  than  I  suspect.  The 
heart's  longing  is  never  intermittent, 
but  the  fear  is,  and  to-day  it  has  a 
pseudo-dominion  over  me  which  makes 
me  laugh,  for  I  am  yours. 

Ah,  friend  of  my  soul,  my  love  seeks 
nothing  but  love  in  return.  Everything 
is  blotted  from  my  heart,  from  my 
senses,  from  my  thoughts,  but  the  image 
of  you,  and  my  faith  in  your  love 
for  me.  Rather  than  lose  that,  I  would 
be  smitten  by  a  meteor. 

I  cannot  tell  how  it  has  all  come 
about.  I  do  not  really  dare  to  ask, 
though  I  often  love  to  think  of  it.  I 
suppose  that  each  woman  has  enshrined 
in  the  most  secret  corner  of  her  heart 
the  mysterious  idol  of  her  reveries.  It 
is  always  of  one  type,  no  matter  how 
much  she  may  be  diverted  from  it.  It 
is  always  the  same  man  ;  unconsciously 
261 


L  A  U  RI  E  L 

she  seeks  for  the  hero  of  her  dreams, 
and  with  every  man  she  meets,  her 
heart  cries  out,  "  Is  it  he  ?  "  Often  her 
inconstancy  is  real  constancy.  In  her 
search  she  may  make  mistakes.  She 
generally  does.  An  honest  girl's  flirta- 
tions are  her  trials.  Her  enthusiasm  is 
her  hope.  Her  tragedy  begins  when 
she  stifles  the  ideal,  and  accepts  the 
false  reality.  I  am  afraid  that  most 
women  do  this.  But  when  heart  goes  to 
heart,  and  mate  recognises  mate,  then 
earth  holds  close  to  her  warm  bosom  no 
greater  happiness. 

Thus  you  came,  and  I  knew  you. 
There  can  never  be  any  other  in  the 
world  for  me  from  this  time  forth.  Let 
me  say  this  again.  It  is  my  daily  litany 
I  sing. 

Good  night.  There  is  no  news,  ex- 
cept that  to-day,  as  every  day,  I  have 
found  a  new  way  of  loving  you. 

LAURIEL. 
262 


L  AU  R  I  E  L 

P.  S.  Now  that  this  love  has  come 
to  me,  I  cannot  live  as  other  women  do. 
The  tongue  that  distils  acid,  the  mouth 
that  chatters  fashion,  the  heart  that 
seeks  diversion,  —  these  know  no  love. 
I  cannot  now  live  as  if  you  did  not 
exist.  For  the  largest  heart  is  not  wide 
enough  for  a  real  love.  Ah,  this  love  is 
so  heavenly !  It  comprehends  the  high, 
and  excludes  the  low.  I  cannot  imagine 
a  love  without  regeneration.  It  assures 
a  clear  heart  and  a  crystal  life.  Tell 
me,  does  it  not  ?  L. 

P.  P.  S.     Did    I  tell  you  that  I  met 

the  Count  Von  Schenkendorf  the  other 

f 

day.  He  is  said  to  be  a  Goethe  in  his 
imperious  fascination  over  women.  I 
looked  at  him  and  burned  incense  to 
you. 


263 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 


Sunday,  the  fourth  of  February. 

MY  DEAR,  DEAR  ROYAL  :  —  I  cannot 
imagine  where  the  time  has  flown.  It 
is  some  days  since  I  have  written,  and 
your  anxiety  is  just.  Many  things 
have  happened.  I  suppose  you  will 
want  to  know  that  I  am  feeling  much 
better.  The  fever  has  abated,  but  it 
has  left  me  not  at  all  myself.  I  cannot 
account  for  the  condition  I  am  in.  I 
seem  to  be  walking  in  a  dream,  and  am 
continually  questioning  the  past  and 
fearful  of  the  future.  Were  it  not  for 
your  dear  letters,  letters  that  frighten 
even  as  they  reassure,  I  should  feel  as 
if  I  had  dragged  my  moorings.  I  sup- 
pose it  is  just  a  phase  of  the  fever. 

The  truth  of  it  is,  I  simply  have  been 

unable  to  write.     I  tried  —  and  tried  — : 

and  could  not  do  it.     I  had  nothing  to 

say.     Nevertheless,  I  have  been  unut- 

264 


L  AU  R  I  E  L 

terably  comforted  by  the  red  light  that 
always  burns  like  a  lamp  above  a  shrine. 
The  night  that  you  came  I  took  a  tape, 
placed  it  in  a  bath  of  olive  oil,  and  sur- 
rounded it  with  a  red,  red  globe  of  cut 
glass.  I  hung  it  at  the  foot  of  my  bed. 
I  have  thought  of  it  as  your  heart,  and 
then  as  mine,  —  both  constant  and  un- 
quenched.  Then  I  have  looked  at  your 
ring.  The  star  gleams  so  mysteriously 
under  its  polished  surface.  I  have  won- 
dered how  God  got  the  star  into  the  red 
stone.  Its  origin  perplexes  me.  Can't 
you  tell  me  ?  You  know  everything. 
Then  I  have  been  thinking  of  you. 
I  am  afraid  I  have  been  a  very  selfish 
girl.  I  have  been  absorbed  only  in  my 
own  happiness,  and  now  it  is  something 
else  that  I  fear.  Questions  that  may 
be  easy  for  my  heart  to  answer,  I  have 
taken  for  granted  are  as  easily  disposed 
of  by  you.  But  you  are  so  much  older, 
and  cannot  have  the  enthusiasm  of  a 
265 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

girl  of  twenty-three,  who  is  made  up  of 
nine  parts  power  to  love,  and  the  other 
part  longing  for  love.  Have  I  not  de- 
manded too  much  ?  perhaps  given  too 
easily  ?  I  have  suddenly  realised  that 
you  are  making  a  great  sacrifice  in  mar- 
rying a  girl  without  a  cent  of  money 
—  who  can  bring  you  only  a  large  heart 
and  an  undisciplined  life.  My  practj- 
cal  ignorance  would  exasperate  you  at 
every  turn.  It  is  true  I  could  make  a 
presentable  hostess  on  a  large  income ; 
but  can  I  make  a  satisfactory  wife  on 
a  moderate  one  ?  I  confess  that  I  am 
tormented  with  doubts.  I  do  not  know 
whether  they  come  from  my  conscience 
or  my  intellect. 

But  let  me  divert  you  from  so  gloomy 
a  subject  as  my  anxiety,  to  our  little 
trip.  I  was  quite  ill,  and  Papa  put  his 
foot  down,  as  papas  will,  even  out  of 
story-books,  and  arranged  for  a  two 
days'  trip  on  the  water.  The  torpedo- 
266 


L  AU  R  I  EL 

boat,  fitted  with  Papa's  new  motor,  was 
finished  long  before  expectation,  and 
put  at  his  disposal.  Duke  Constan- 
tine  took  command  to  make  observa- 
tions and  tests  for  the  government. 
They  planned  to  run  a  hundred  miles 
or  so,  to  the  islands,  spend  the  night 
there,  and  return  the  next  day.  The 
sea  was  choppy,  and  the  boat  pitched 
frightfully.  It  is  about  two  hundred 
feet  long  and  only  thirty-two  feet 
broad.  You  can  imagine  the  result. 
I  was  terribly  seasick.  It  was  a  new 
experience,  and  I  could  have  died. 
Papa  was  very  kind,  and  suggested  that 
the  grand  duke  see  whether  hypno- 
tism would  not  abate  the  suffering. 
Naturally  I  indignantly  refused.  The 
duke  was  very  kind,  and  did  not  insist. 
He  kept  away,  instinctively  knowing, 
I  suppose,  that  a  man  is  hateful  to  a 
woman  in  that  condition.  Then  I  be- 
came worse.  I  suppose  it  was  the 
267 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

malaria  and  mal-de-mer  combined.  At 
last,  too  weak  to  refuse  any  more,  I 
consented.  Papa  fixed  me  in  a  chair 
in  the  stuffy  cabin ;  and  Constantine 
made  his  ridiculous  passes  over  my 
head.  I  was  too  ill  to  see  him,  and 
kept  my  eyes  closed.  Pretty  soon  I  fell 
asleep,  and  when  I  woke  up  I  felt  de- 
cidedly relieved.  Constantine  was  just 
leaving,  and  Papa  looked  out  for  me 
like  a  mother.  I  have  never  known 
him  kinder  or^more  thoughtful.  He  is 
a  dear.  As  soon  as  I  was  able  to  get 
up  on  deck,  I  felt  better  than  I  had  for 
days.  The  fever  was  gone,  the  sea- 
sickness gone,  and  I  was  in  a  fine 
condition.  Isn't  that  a  wonderful 
power,  —  to  be  able  to  relieve  suffering 
like  that?  I  never  dreamed  it  possible. 
Then  Papa  and  the  duke  together 
explained  the  torpedo-boat  in  all  its 
parts.  It  was  even  more  exciting  than 
automobiling.  What  magic  has  the 
268 


L AU  R I  EL 

power  of  flight,  whether  on  sea  or  land ! 
There  we  flew  at  the  rate  of  thirty-five 
knots  an  hour.  Think  of  that !  The 
whole  boat  was  one  cataract  of  spray. 
The  conning-tower  was  the  only  livable 
place  on  deck,  and  /steered. 

Then  we  came  back.  It  seemed  as 
if  a  new  world  had  opened  up.  To  be 
able  to  go  on  such  splendid  boats  —  to 
cut  the  water  like  an  express  train  — 
to  have  the  exhilaration  and  the  sense 
of  power  —  I  really  began  to  envy  Con- 
stantine,  for  «the  first  time.  Ah,  what 
a  life  is  that  of  the  sailor  in  command ! 
Wouldn't  you  have  enjoyed  it  ?  But,  I 
am  ashamed  to  say  it,  I  did  not  have 
time  to  think  even  of  you,  after  I  be- 
came well.  I  had  no  idea  there  was  so 
much  in  hypnotism.  I  must  look  into 
it  some  more.  The  duke  has  been  in 
once  or  twice,  and  made  some  experi- 
ments that  are  certainly  fascinating,  — 
but  I  don't  suppose  they  would  interest 
269 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

you,  who  are  so  tremendously  prac- 
tical. 

There  isn't  much  more  news.  Papa 
plans  to  take  us  to  Paris  shortly.  He 
is  to  interest  the  French  government 
in  one  of  his  inventions,  and  President 
Loubet  has  promised  him  an  audience. 
We  may  not  go  alone,  but  I  -can't  tell 
you  yet  just  who  will  make  up  the  party. 
The  queen  gives  a  little  luncheon  to 
me  day  after  to-morrow.  There  will 
only  be  the  R.  F.  and  no  others  present 
except  uncle  and  aunt  and  Papa.  I 
expect  a  lively  time  with  George.  I 
haven't  seen  much  of  him  lately.  I  sup- 
pose either  he  or  I  have  been  too  busy. 

To-morrow  afternoon  I  play  in  one 
of  those  inevitable  tournaments,  and 
have  for  the  first  time  consented  that 
the  duke  shall  be  my  partner.  Indeed, 
he  has  done  so  much  for  me  that  I  had 
not  the  heart  to  refuse  him  again. 

You  ask  me  the  name  of  my  perfume. 
270 


L  AU  R  I  E  L 

That  is  a  secret  I  shall  never  divulge 
—  even  to  my  husband,  unless  I  adore 
him  to  death.  Write  me  as  soon  as 
you  can.  I  must  stop  here  and  try  on 
a  foolish  dress. 

Very  affectionately, 

LAURIEL. 


271 


L AU  R I E  L 
TELEGRAM 

Feb.  8. 
To  ROYAL  STRONG, 

Corinth,  Greece:  — 
Do   not   pay   attention    to   letter   of 
Sunday.     I    was    not    myself.      Await 
letter  written  to-day.  L. 


272 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 


February  the  eighth. 

OH  my  love,  my  own  !  What  have  I 
done !  Of  what  treason  of  the  heart 
have  I  been  guilty  ?  What  loss  of  faith 
in  myself  do  I  not  deserve  ?  I  have 
betrayed  you  and  myself.  I  have  noth- 
ing left  but  your  inexhaustible  well  of 
love  upon  which  I  can  draw  for  free- 
dom. Do  you  know,  my  Rex,  that  I 
am  writing  upon  my  knees,  just  as  my 
soul  is  bowed  and  pleading  before  the 
throne  of  your  tenderness  for  pardon  ? 

I  must  tell  you,  and,  believe  me,  I  do 
so  with  no  idea  of  excusing  myself,  but 
only  with  horror  at  my  own  weakness 
and  unworthiness.  It  is  over  a  week 
now  that  I  have  lived  in  a  trance.  This 
morning  I  was  trying  to  open  my  eyes. 
They  did  not  seem  to  respond  to  my 
will.  I  tried  again  and  again  in  vain. 
Then  I  lay  back  and  wondered.  What 
273 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

did  this  strange  state  mean  ?  It  seemed 
as  if  some  mysterious,  great  exertion  had 
been  expended  upon  the  will  rather  than 
upon  the  muscles.  I  tried  to  cry  out;  I 
could  not  utter  a  sound.  I  tried  to  move. 
I  could  not  stir.  It  then  occurred  to  me 
that  I  was  either  very  ill  —  or  —  The 
other  terrible  possibility — yes,  it  must  be 
so.  I  was  in  a  hypnotic  trance,  and  help- 
less, under  the  power  of  some  one  else. 
Instantly,  rigid  as  I  was,  the  whole 
terrible  situation  swept  before  my  mind. 
The  duke's  cure  of  seasickness  —  his 
experiments,  in  which  I  had  been  his 
principal  without  realising  it  —  the 
peculiar  and  inexplicable  change  of 
mental  horizon  which  then  seemed  to 
demand  no  explanation,  and  was  per- 
fectly natural  —  the  foggy  state  of  mind 
in  which  my  body  groped  —  and  over 
and  above  all,  the  fact  that  you  —  inta- 
glio of  my  heart — had  become  sud- 
denly dim  to  my  thoughts. 
274 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

It  was  unbelievable.  It  was  horrible. 
Helpless  as  I  felt,  I  knew  that  the  hour 
of  struggle  must  come  with  the  flash 
of  enlightenment.  But  how?  Desper- 
ately I  began  to  repeat  your  dear  name 
—  a  name  that  is  henceforth  my  talis- 
man. And  as  I  said  "  Royal "  and  my 
heart  said  "  Rex,"  and  my  soul  echoed 
"  King,"  somehow  the  tension  of  my 
muscles  relaxed,  and  pretty  soon,  with- 
out effort,  as  easily  as  a  girl  looks  up 
into  her  lover's  face,  I  opened  my  eyes 
and  I  opened  my  whole  nature,  and 
looked  up  to  you.  You  were  there, 
and  you  took  me  in  your  arms  and 
saved  me. 

Oh,  the  indignity,  the  mortification 
of  it!  Am  I  a  weak  fool  to  be  the 
sport  of  a  charlatan  who  waves  his 
hands  and  makes  a  few  passes  over  my 
head  ?  How  you  must  despise  me  ! 
but  in  your  moments  of  highest  indig- 
nation not  so  deeply  as  I  despise  my- 
275 


L  AU  R  I  E  L 

self.  To  think  that  I  could  have  so 
easily  fallen  into  so  impious  a  plot 
against  my  soul !  That  my  father  could 
have  abetted  this  dishonour  I  cannot 
believe,  and  that  the  brother  of  the  king 
should  have  descended  to  such  imposi- 
tion, I  cannot  understand  !  But  that  I, 
your  promised  wife,  I  who  adore  you 
with  every  fibre  of  my  being,  who  cling 
to  you  as  to  God,  could  fail  for  the 
pettiest  part  of  a  second  in  my  alle- 
giance to  and  dependence  upon  you,  — 
that,  that  will  always  be  the  dark  mys- 
tery of  my  life.  Ah,  my  own,  can  you 
believe  ?  Will  you  forgive  ? 

But  what  shall  I  do  ?  I  am  locked 
in  here  alone.  Aunt  Niobe  ?  I  cannot 
trust  her  love.  Her  ambition  smothers 
it.  Papa  ?  He  can  never  be  the  same 
to  me  again.  As  for  the  Grand  Duke 
Constantine,  it  is  the  last  time  I  shall 
ever  allow  my  eyes  to  meet  his.  I  shall 
never  speak  to  him  again,  nor  will  I 
276 


L  AU  KIEL 

ever  soil  paper  with  his  name.  I  can 
think  of  nobody  but  Aunt  Lucy.  She 
may  help  me,  I  do  not  know.  If  you 
should  write  to  her  —  but  again  I  can- 
not tell.  I  may  enclose  a  line  from  her 
to  you,  but  she  may  refuse. 

Only  one  thing  I  do  know,  and  that 
is,  I  must  leave  here.  I  dare  not  stay. 
Help  me !  I  am  in  peril.  Save  me ! 
You  are  my  star,  and  I  turn  to  you 
with  a  faith  that  would  create  a  pardon- 
ing heart  within  you  if  it  were  not 
already  there. 

My  love,  my  love,  the  time  has  come 
for  you  to  save  me,  and  it  will  need  the 
strength  by  which  you  won  me.  If  you 
love  me,  if  you  want  me,  you  must  come 
and  come  quickly.  Now  I  am  a  self- 
condemned  prisoner.  For  freedom's 
sake  I  have  shut  myself  in,  and  I  prom- 
ise you  I  shall  see  no  one,  excepting 
Aunt  Lucy,  until  you  come.  Dare  you 
take  the  responsibility?  It  is  a  great 
277 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

step.  It  will  be  a  final  one.  Does 
your  heart  falter?  Ah,  my  love  is  so 
great  that  it  would  rather  condemn  me 
to  eternal  solitude  than  accept  you  with 
the  slightest  doubt  in  your  soul,  or 
with  an  infinitesimal  reluctance  in 
your  heart  For  what  I  give,  you,  my 
Royal,  take.  You  take  a  love  shorn  of 
its  conceits,  but  stronger  for  its  atone- 
ment —  you  take  a  girl  who  brings 
nothing  but  a  heart's  devotion  —  you 
take  her  away  from  kindred  into  a  new 
world,  and  into  an  unknown  land  —  you 
take  a  poor  girl,  Royal. 

And  she  —  she  could  die  for  you,  but 
she  trembles  to  be  yours,  wholly  yours, 
for  you  are  all  she  has  in  the  world. 

You  have  said,  dearest,  how  often  ? 
that  whenever  I  was  ready  to  be  your 
wife,  you  needed  only  a  word,  a  sign  — 
Love,  will  you  take  me  now  ?  Come 
quickly !  And  let  me  know  the  moment 
you  arrive.  How  can  it  be  arranged  ? 
178 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

I  leave  everything  to  you.  What  you 
command,  I  shall  do  —  what  you  will, 
I  shall  wish. 

Ah,  but  how  I  hate  this  secrecy  — 
this  scurrying  —  this  mantle  thrown 
upon  our  love.  I  would  blazen  it  before 
the  world.  When  I  think  of  you,  I 
suffocate  with  pride.  I  cannot  believe 
my  good  fortune  to  have  for  a  husband 
the  noblest  man  I  ever  knew.  What 
queen  ever  received  such  a  gift?  I 
want  to  cry  your  name  out  in  the 
streets.  I  want  every  one  that  looks 
upon  my  face  to  read  "Royal"  upon 
my  forehead.  I  wish  it  were  branded 
there.  How  proud  I  should  be. 

But  in  his  present  frame  of  mind,  I 
cannot  tell  what  Papa  might  do.  I  now 
understand  his  tenderness  of  the  last 
few  days.  The  spell  was  working. 
Oh,  what  sacrifice  can  wash  that  in- 
dignity away  ? 

But  he  is  a  very  angry  man.  I  do 
279 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

not  want  to  escape  like  a  discovered 
burglar.  I  wish  to  walk  out  quietly 
some  sunny  morning  very  soon  —  go 
to  the  little  American  church,  and  be 
married.  Then  we  will  cast  one  shadow, 
instead  of  two,  my  love  —  and  so  defy 
the  world.  There  is  a  steamer  sailing 
next  Tuesday.  Can  we  catch  that, 
and  leave  this  accursed  country,  and  go 
home? 

Home!  There  are  four  words  in  the 
language  that  move  the  harshest  nature, 
and  control  the  most  fickle.  Home ! 
Love!  Husband!  Wife!  There  is  the 
whole  wide  world  to  me  —  and  to  every 
true  woman  and  true  man,  I  believe. 
These  comprehend  all,  and  without  are 
the  unhappy  prisoners  of  solitude  and 
self.  I  never  dreamed  that  life  could 
be  so  wonderful.  You  asked  me  once 
if  I  could  be  satisfied  with  the  perfect 
quiet  of  a  life  beloved.  A  thousand 
times  yes !  For  such  temperamental 
280 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

constancy  as  ours  can  never  allow 
monotony  to  enter,  and  destroy  the 
Eden  that  we  shall  build. 

Tears  blind  me  as  I  write.  They 
flow  from  a  heart  wounded  with  con- 
trition, and  to  be  healed  by  an  eternity 
of  love.  They  flow  with  the  longing 
for  rest,  and  with  the  hope  of  being 
comforted.  They  flow  with  awe  of 
quick  approaching  happiness.  They 
flow  because  the  minutes  are  so  slow 
and  empty  without  you.  They  flow 
because  I  am  a  woman,  and  have  sur- 
rendered my  life  into  the  keeping  of 
a  man,  and  have  no  mother  on  whose 
bosom  I  can  weep.  Come,  my  love, 
my  luxury  of  the  heart,  lord  of  my  life, 
come  to 

LAURIEL. 

P.  S.  Do  not  telegraph,  but  come, 
and  send  word  on  your  arrival. 


381 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 


Sunday  the  eleventh. 

MY  ROYAL  HEART  :  —  "  He  has  come ! 
He  has  come ! "  So  runs  the  reveille 
of  my  soul.  You  cannot  imagine  what 
celestial  happiness  your  presence  brings. 
Your  letter,  breathing  your  loyalty  and 
longing,  bathes  me  with  peace.  You 
are  here.  I  can  almost  see  you  walking 
on  the  Plaza.  I  can  almost  hear  your 
voice,  and  feel  your  protecting  arms. 
Ah,  my  Rex,  you  have  forgiven  me. 
You  even  understand,  and  make  ex- 
planations, and  forge  excuses.  That 
you  love  me  and  will  care  for  me  is 
all  I  hope  for.  I  have  no  home  but 
your  arms;  no  future  but  your  tender- 
ness ;  no  eternity  but  your  love. 

Dear!  What  you  will,  I  wish.  What 
you  command,  I  do.  Arrange  it  as 
you  please.  Plan  it  as  you  can.  In 
282 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

any  way  you  choose,  at  any  hour  you 
name,  I  am  yours. 

I  am  supposed  to  be  ill  in  my  room, 
and  have  refused  an  invitation  to  a 
royal  lunch  for  that  reason.  I  cannot 
leave  these  four  walls  until  I  leave  them 
for  ever  —  and  for  you. 

I  send  this  by  Aunt  Lucy's  maid. 
Dear  Aunt  Lucy!  She  will  stand  by 
us.  May  the  God  of  a  motherless  girl 
bless  her  for  it,  for  ever  and  ever. 

The  hour  has  come  for  me,  when  my 
faith  in  the  man  I  love  supremely  ar- 
rives at  its  final  test.  I  do  not  find 
it  necessary  to  summon  strength  for  my 
faith.  The  store  seems  inexhaustible. 
For,  were  it  not  for  your  delicate 
chivalry,  as  well  as  your  conquering 
manliness,  I  could  never  call  you  hus- 
band. Be  it  now  as  you  will  and  when 
you  will  —  I  am  yours. 

LAURIEL. 

Answer  by  the  maid. 
283 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 


Evening  of  the  same  day. 
MY  love,  my  love,  your  answer  has 
come.  What  strength  you  have  !  How 
wise  you  are!  Day  after  to-morrow  I 
shall  be  born  again  into  a  new  world. 
How  fluffy  and  insignificant  seems  the 
one  I  am  leaving !  How  beautiful  death 
would  be  if,  like  marriage,  it  took  the 
body  as  well  as  the  soul  away  from  its 
earthly  habitation !  I  do  not  know 
whether  a  revolution  is  unconsciously 
taking  place  within  me,  but  I  feel 
calm,  and  it  seems  perfectly  natural 
for  me  to  be  preparing  my  things 
to  be  with  you.  Ay,  Joy,  where  is 
thy  sting!  Only  that  Papa  is  not  with 
me.  Why  did  he  not  plot  for  my 
happiness  rather  than  for  his  ambi- 
tion ?  My  great  joy  could  have  so 
easily  included  him,  and  all  those  who 
284 


L  AU  RI  E  L 

wish  me  happiness  in  their  way,  not 
in  thine  and  mine. 

A  thousand  meanings  spring  where 
none  were  yesterday,  now  that  the 
decision  is  made.  There  is  a  drawer 
full  of  ribbons  and  furbelows.  What 
shall  I  choose  for  you  ?  Do  you  re- 
member the  dress  I  wore  that  day  on 
the  rocks  at  Eastern  Point?  That  I 
shall  take  if  not  another  one;  and  the 
pink  ribbons  I  wore  when  I  was  a 
Dresden  shepherdess  at  the  masked 
ball  —  that  night  when  you  first  kissed 
me. 

Ah,  the  sacredness  of  sharing  the 
whole  world  of  life  with  the  man  you 
love !  Does  my  note  breathe  a  "  be- 
witching perfume  ?  "  You  shall  know 
its  simple  secret  soon. 

I  am  so  glad  you  have  decided  on  the 

little  American  church.     I  do  not  care 

before  how  many  or  how  few  —  whether 

as  a  princess  or  as  a  beggar-maid  —  but 

285 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

I  do  want  to  be  married  in  church.  You 
knew  that,  did  you  not,  you  intuitive 
man? 

I  look  for   a  good-morning   note  — 
sent  by  my  royal  lover  to 

LAURIEL. 


286 


L A  U  R I  EL 


Monday. 

MY  DARLING  :  —  As  the  Day  of  Life 
approaches  it  seems  to  me,  at  moments, 
almost  like  the  Day  of  Death  —  so 
solemn  and  so  sacred  is  its  counte- 
nance, and  so  utterly  does  it  put  an  end 
to  all  my  past,  and  so  blessedly  does  it 
make  the  beginning  to  all  my  future. 
It  is  as  if  I  read  the  last  page  in  a  long 
volume  and  shut  the  book ;  and  took  up 
another,  and  sat  hesitating  and  trem- 
bling before  the  first  chapter. 

No,  no!  I  do  not  hesitate,  Love,  I 
do  not  hesitate,  but  I  tremble  —  oh, 
I  cannot  help  it!  If  I  did  not  know 
how  noble  you  are,  if  I  did  not  trust 
you  more  than  I  trust  myself,  and  love 
you  as  no  other  man  could  be  loved  by 
any  woman  —  I  should  be  afraid.  For 
it  is  a  plunge  in  the  dark  that  we  take, 
Royal,  over  the  edge  of  fate.  Other 
287 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

girls  marry  in  sunlight,  and  flowers, 
and  on  Wilton  carpets,  and  with  their 
mother's  tears  upon  their  faces,  and 
their  father  takes  them  on  his  strong 
arm  and  "gives  them  away"  to  him 
who  is  lord  of  their  lives.  You  and  I 
must  trust  the  precipice,  and  dare  the 
dark.  If  we  find  ourselves  in  some 
sunny  meadow,  smiling  and  safe,  and 
if  people  forgive  us  and  love  us  still  - 
that  will  be  well.  But,  if  we  leap  into 
a  midnight  sea,  and  must  swim  for  our 
lives  and  our  love  and  our  happiness  — 
and  if  nobody  is  kind  to  us,  nobody  in 
the  world  —  we  shall  be  together.  What 
do  I  care  ?  I  care  for  nothing  if  I  am 
with  you.  I  want  nothing  but  to  be 
yours.  There  is  no  life  for  me  without 
you.  Anything  that  life  brings  me 
through  you  or  because  of  you  I  am 
ready  for. 

Dear !     Have  you  ever  thought  that 
perhaps  we  may  not  always  have  quite 
288 


L  AU  R  I  E  L 

an  easy  life  ?  That  we  may  have  some 
troubles  that  will  be  hard  to  bear  ?  I 
have  never  experienced  hardship,  but 
I  am  not  afraid  of  it.  I  am  only  afraid 
lest  my  inexperience  should  make  it 
harder  for  you  when  it  comes  to  us. 
Teach  me,  you  who  are  wiser  and 
braver  than  I !  I  will  learn  from  you 
so  gladly,  so  gently  — 

Ah,  what  can  I  say?  for  the  tears 
splash  on  my  paper,  and  my  face  is  wet. 
I  cannot  see  the  words  I  write.  ...  I 
love  you.  I  wish  I  were  a  thousand  fold 
the  girl  I  am.  .  .  .  for  I  love  you.  I  wish 
I  could  bring  you  peace  and  ease  and 
delight,  and  all  the  glories  and  roses  of 
this  world  —  for  I  do  love  you.  Instead, 
I  bring  you  new  cares,  burdens,  trials  — 
a  penniless,  troubled,  homeless  girl  — 
who  has  nothing  for  you  but  her  love 
and  herself,  and  is  altogether  glad  to  be 

YOUR  LAURIEL. 


289 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 


Monday  evening. 

I  have  just  time  to  send  this  to  you. 
I  hope  that  it  will  be  the  last  letter  that 
I  shall  write  you  for  a  long,  long  while. 
The  little  baggage  that  I  can  get  out  of 
the  house  will  be  at  the  wharf  to-night 
in  charge  of  uncle's  dragoman.  Aunt 
Lucy  will  go  to  the  church  with  me  to- 
morrow. We  shall  walk  out  quietly, 
and  be  at  the  church  at  five  minutes  be- 
fore ten ;  Aunt  Niobe  has  been  "  going 
on  "  so  much  she  does  not  yet  suspect 
the  upheaval.  Would  that  I  could  con- 
fide in  Papa,  —  but  he  is  conspiring  — 
what,  I  do  not  know,  with  that  other. 
It  will  be  a  thunderbolt,  but  he  has  cut 
me  off  if  I  do  not  accept  his  will.  I 
have  taken  the  poor  man  at  his  word. 
We  will  try  not  to  render  anger  for 
anger  —  for  we  gain  all  that  he  loses. 

I  am  very  tired,  and  waiting.  In 
290 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

fifteen  hours  we  shall  belong  to  each 
other  for  ever.  The  star  in  my  ruby 
flashes  expectantly.  I  blush  to  look 
at  it. 

I  do  not  seem  to  find  it  possible  to 
write.  My  heart  is  too  full.  It  brims 
over  with  silence. 

May  this  be  the  last  time  I  sign 
myself,  Your 

LAURA  L.  LIVINGSTONE. 


291 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 


February  13,  1901. 

MY  PRECIOUS  HUSBAND:  —  It  seems 
ages  since  you  have  left  me,  yet  only 
a  few  hours  have  dragged  their  heavy 
weight  since  we  clung  and  parted.  If  I 
had  been  left  alone  I  could  not  have 
borne  the  cruel  solitude.  The  trees 
seem  to  hang  motionless  in  the  dead 
atmosphere ;  the  birds  do  not  sing.  I 
am  bereaved,  and  nature  herself  seems 
to  be  a  mourner  with  me.  But  now, 
thou  soul  of  my  soul,  I  am  not  un- 
happy, although  I  am  cut  in  twain. 
For  our  child  is  sleeping  quietly  at  my 
side,  as  I  pour  my  heart  out  to  his 
father. 

What  a  horrible  thing  is  this  busi- 
ness that  separates  husband  and  wife 
on  the  anniversary  of  their  first  wed- 
ding-day !  And  it  is  our  first  real  sepa- 
ration at  that.  This  vortex  of  struggle 
292 


L  AU  R  I  E  L 

for  life  itself  is  so  terrible,  and  yet  so 
sweet.  Tell  me  again,  my  heart,  if  I 
have  been  a  helpful  wife  to  you,  and 
that  the  joy  is  master  of  the  burdens? 
A  wife  cannot  hear  such  protestations 
too  often. 

You  took  me  in  your  arms  for  the 
last  time  this  morning,  and  made  me 
the  beautiful  wedding-gift  of  being  a 
bride  another  year.  Your  exquisite 
tenderness  touched  my  heart  so  that  I 
could  not  speak.  But  happy  tears  flow 
as  I  write.  For  now  that  you  are  away, 
I  can  see  more  clearly,  and  tell  you 
better,  all  that  my  husband  has  been  to 
me.  Ah,  dearest,  we  have  poured  our 
love  at  each  other's  feet,  and  the  incense 
of  our  sacred  happiness  must  have 
arisen  to  the  throne  of  God.  It  has 
filled  me  with  a  great  reverence.  A 
love  that  has  borne  this  holy  fruit  at 
my  side  can  never  die.  Who  dares  say 
that  the  soul  is  not  immortal  ?  If  love 
293 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

is  everlasting,  life  must  be  not  less  so. 
In  all  this  blessed  year,  not  a  word,  not 
a  look  of  anger  or  of  reproach,  and  you 
know  that  your  little  girl  has  merited 
both  many  a  time.  And  you  have  been 
so  tender,  and  yet  so  firm.  For  you 
are  my  lord  and  king,  and  my  life  and 
the  fulness  thereof  is  dedicated  to  you. 
Night  after  night  I  have  lain  awake, 
too  happy  to  sleep  —  and  morning  after 
morning  I  have  pretended  sleep  for  the 
joy  of  being  awakened  by  your  tender 
kiss. 

Then  you  made  me  your  comrade 
and  your  confidante,  and  I  began  to 
like  you  even  as  I  loved  you.  What 
perfect  companionship  has  been  ours ! 
moving  here  and  there  over  the  West ! 
What  glorious  sport  in  surmounting 
each  difficulty  as  it  arose  together.  You 
are  mine,  and  I  love  you. 

Then  —  then,  my  husband,  the  prom- 
ise came,  and  you  prepared  this  dear 
294 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

little  home,  and  here  we  are.  You  did 
not  leave  me,  and  God  gave  us  a  son, 
and  in  the  giving  took  nothing  away 
from  us,  not  even  the  mother's  strength, 
which  so  many  poor  mothers  lose  in 
their  joy.  Your  son  —  Royal  the  Sec- 
ond (how  do  you  like  the  reading  of  it  ? 
Is  it  not  beautiful  and  strange  ?)  —  looks 
so  much  like  his  father  that  I  could 
love  him  to  death.  Even  now  he  moves 
his  little  baby  fingers  and  calls  for  me. 
Can  you  spare  me  a  few  moments  to 
my  happiness  ? 

Afternoon. 

Royal,  Royal,  my  husband,  how  can 
I  be  away  from  you  so  long!  And  I 
must  tell  you,  such  a  wonderful  thing 
has  happened.  And  oh,  if  you  were 
only  here,  I  should  be  so  happy  that  it 
seems  to  me  I  could  hardly  bear  it  and 
live. 

The   baby  had   been   asleep  on  my 
bed  but  a  few  minutes,  and  I  was  just 
29S 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

starting  to  finish  this  to  you,  when  the 
door-bell  rang. 

"  A  gentleman  wishes  to  see  Mrs. 
Strong,"  said  the  maid.  "  He  has  come 
in  a  carriage,  ma'am." 

So  I  fixed  myself  a  little,  for  I  had 
my  hair  braided  down  my  back  as  you 
like  it,  and  I  kissed  our  little  Rex  and 
hurried  down.  Out  of  the  corner  of 
the  room  rose,  stately,  with  silk  hat 
and  cane  in  hand —  Who  do  you 
think  ?  Guess !  Papa !  Dear,  dear 
Papa,  whom  we  have  not  seen  or  heard 
from  since  we  fled  like  runaway  lovers 
from  Tania.  I  couldn't  help  it,  I  just 
did  it.  I  ran  and  flung  my  arms 
around  his  neck  and  kissed  him  until 
he  —  well  —  he  did  —  and  so  did  I. 
After  we  had  composed  ourselves  a 
little,  I  drew  him  to  the  window,  and 
there  saw  a  lady  sitting  out  in  the  only 
carriage  that  the  town  boasts.  She 
was  taking  a  pill  —  and  I  could  see 
296 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

that  it  was  a  salmon-coloured  pill. 
But  I  asked  as  if  I  did  not  know, 
"Who  is  that,  Papa?" 

"  Tell  me  one  thing,"  said  Papa,  very 
soberly.  "  Where  is  Mr.  Strong  ? " 

So  I  told  him  you  had  just  started  on 
an  important  trip  to  Chicago  to  meet  a 
syndicate.  "  It  is  our  first  separation," 
I  said,  "  our  very  first." 

He  put  his  hands  on  my  shoulders. 
His  face  worked.  "  Is  he  good  to 
you  ?  "  he  asked,  solemnly. 

"  He  is  the  noblest,  he  is  the  best 
husband  in  the  world,  and  I  am  the 
happiest  woman  in  North  America." 

"  And  don't  you  mind  —  this  —  ?  " 
With  a  sweep  of  his  hand  he  indicated 
as  delicately  as  he  could,  the  plainness 
of  our  home,  and  the  simplicity  of  my 
gown. 

I  think  I  drew  myself  up  just  a 
little. 

"  I  love  it,  Papa,"  I  said,  "  I  love  it 
297 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

all.  I  wouldn't  change  it  for  the 
world!" 

"  I  think,"  said  Papa,  "  I'll  ask  Niobe 
to  step  in." 

So  Aunt  Niobe  came  in,  and  we 
kissed  and  cried,  while  Papa  watched 
us,  crumpling  up  his  handkerchief  in  an 
embarrassed  way.  Then  I  said,  "  Don't 
you  want  to  see  the  baby  ?  You  mustn't 
wake  him,  he  has  just  had  his  dinner 
and  has  gone  to  sleep." 

So  they  came  up  to  our  room.  Aunt 
Niobe  kneeled  and  kissed  the  baby's 
cheek.  But  Papa  looked  down  at  his 
grandson  with  twitching  lips.  Aunt 
Niobe  kept  saying,  "  What  a  beautiful 
baby !  "  I  never  liked  Aunt  Niobe  so 
much  before.  She  is  growing  just  like 
other  people. 

They  are  going  to  stay  to-night  and 

perhaps   until   you   come  back,  if   you 

hurry  up.    Poor  Papa  is  much  changed 

and  he  says  he  wants  us  to  live  some- 

298 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

where  else.  But  no  other  place  will  be 
the  home  that  this  dear  little  house  is, 
where  our  baby  was  born. 

Yes,  Papa  has  forgiven  us,  bless  him 
for  it,  like  a  father  in  a  play  —  only 
quietly,  and  naturally,  and  not  like 
fathers  in  plays,  and  before  he  goes  to 
bed  he  will  say  that  his  daughter  was 
wiser  than  he,  because  she  followed  the 
lord  of  her  heart  wherever  love  led  the 
way.  There  is  no  other  wisdom  in  the 
word  than  that. 

Papa  and  Aunt  Niobe  are  talking 
down-stairs.  I  must  hurry  this  for 
the  evening  mail.  I  will  take  it  to  the 
office  myself,  and  Papa  will  walk  with 
me  while  Aunt  Niobe  watches  the 
baby. 

If  you  were  here,  it  would  be  a  won- 
derful anniversary.  The  warm  sun 
charges  life  with  glory,  and  makes 
me  breathe  deep  and  rejoice.  I  do 
not  know  what  the  next  year  will 
299 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

bring.  If  it  shall  bring  fortune  it  may 
be  good,  but  it  cannot  bring  greater 
happiness  than  you  have  bestowed  upon 
me.  More  joy  would  be  too  much.  I 
would  rather  live  in  a  hovel  and  work 
my  fingers  to  the  bone  than  have  money 
taint  such  a  heaven  of  happiness  as  ours. 
For  I  have  known  riches  and  experi- 
enced love,  and  have  found  that  the 
first  is  poverty,  and  the  last  is  wealth, 
and  that  there  is  nothing  on  earth  worth 
having  but  a  love  like  ours. 

I  kiss  you,  oh,  my  husband,  a  thou- 
sand times.  My  lips  are  cold,  my  arms 
are  empty,  and  the  night  is  long..  Ah, 
but  you  have  left  yourself  behind,  and 
as  I  press  your  son  to  my  bosom,  I 
clasp  you,  and  I  am  happy  and  content. 
The  hour  that  brings  you  close  to  my 
loving  heart  will  be  the  happiest  hour 
I  have  ever  known. 

Your  adoring  wife, 

LAURIEL. 
300 


L  A  U  R  I  E  L 

P.  S.  I  enclose  a  flower  for  you  to  put 
in  your  pocket.  Of  course  I  have  kissed 
it.  Do  you  think,  sir,  I  shall  tell  you 
how  many  times  ? 

Every  moment  I  look  for  a  tele- 
gram for 

YOUR  WIFE. 


THE   END. 


301 


NEW    FICTION 


Captain  Ravenshaw 

BY  ROBERT  NEILSON   STEPHENS 

AUTHOR  OF  "PHILIP  WINWOOD,"  "AN 
ENEMY  TO  THE  KING,"  ETC.,  ETC. 

Beautifully  illustrated 
I2mo,  cloth,  $1.50 

Jit 

Not  since  the  absorbing  adventures  of  D'Artagnan 
have  we  had  anything  so  good  in  the  blended  vein  of 
romance  and  comedy.  Mr.  Stephens  in  his  latest  novel 
has  given  us  a  tale  to  gratify  the  taste  of  his  most  ardent 
admirers.  The  background  of  Elizabethan  London,  with 
its  narrow  streets  and  dark  houses,  gives  excellent  scope 
for  deeds  of  enterprise  and  of  worth.  The  beggar 
student,  the  rich  goldsmith,  the  roisterer  and  the  rake, 
the  fop  and  the  maid,  are  all  here :  foremost  among 
them,  Captain  Ravenshaw  himself,  soldier  of  fortune  and 
adventurer,  who,  after  escapades  of  binding  interest, 
finally  wins  a  way  to  fame  and  to  matrimony.  The 
rescue  of  a  maid  from  the  designs  of  an  unscrupulous 
father  and  rakish  lord  forms  the  principal  and  underlying 
theme,  around  which  incidents  group  themselves  with 
sufficient  rapidity  to  hold  one's  attention  spellbound. 
"Captain  Ravenshaw"  is  sure  to  find  favor  with  the 
public,  for  in  incident,  plot,  and  design  the  author  has 
sustained,  if  he  has  not  advanced,  the  excellence  of 
workmanship  which  distinguishes  his  earlier  romances. 


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NEW    FICTION 


She  Stands  Alone 

BEING    THE    STORY    OF    PILATE*S    WIFE 

BY  MARK   ASHTON 

AUTHOR  OF  "  THE  NANA*S  TALISMAN," 
"  HAGGITH  SHY,"  ETC. 

I2mo,  cloth  decorative,  gilt  top,  with  12  full-page  plates, 


Few  novels  of  the  present  day  can  stand  comparison 
with  this  remarkable  book,  which  must  be  ranked  in 
modern  literature  dealing  with  the  early  Christian  era  as 
only  second  to  "Ben  Hur.  "  Its  power,  its  beauty, 
and  above  all  its  deep  earnestness  of  purpose  and  won- 
derful life  and  vitality,  mark  it  at  once  as  a  masterpiece. 
Mr.  Ashton  has  succeeded  in  avoiding  the  faults  which 
have  been  common  in  practically  all  the  recent  novels 
based  on  the  religio-historical  theme  —  vulgarity  and 
sensationalism.  "She  Stands  Alone,"  while  rapid  in 
movement  and  intensely  dramatic  in  plot,  is  pure  and 
noble  in  every  incident.  The  reader  will  be  charmed  by 
its  dignity  and  power,  as  well  as  by  its  dramatic  inci- 
dents and  vivid  portrayals  of  those  wonderful  early 
Christians  whose  faith  and  self-sacrifice  have  been  the 
theme  of  countless  writers  throughout  the  ages. 

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NEW    FICTION 


The     Washingtonians 

BY 
PAULINE    BRADFORD    MACKIE 


AUTHOR    OF    <CYE    LYTTLE    SALEM    MAIDE, 
"  A    GEORGIAN    ACTRESS,"    ETC. 


Illustrated 
One  vol.,  large  I2mo,  cloth  decorative,  $1.50 


Pauline  Bradford  Mackie's  new  novel  deals  with 
Washington  official  society  in  the  early  sixties.  The 
plot  is  based  upon  the  career  (not  long  since  ended)  of 
a  brilliant  and  well-known  woman,  who  was  at  that  time 
a  power  in  court  circles.  The  catastrophe  which  forms 
the  turning-point  is  the  wreck  of  the  great  lady's  ambi- 
tion, which  was  to  make  her  father  President.  The 
book  will  be  of  interest  in  the  insight  it  affords  into 
history,  which  is,  upon  the  personal  side,  as  yet  un- 
written, and  will  please  through  the  charm  of  its  love- 
story  between  the  niece  of  a  member  of  Lincoln's 
Cabinet  and  his  private  secretary. 

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NEW    FICTION 


My  Strangest  Case 

BY    GUY    BOOTHBY 

AUTHOR    OF    "  DOCTOR    NICCOLA,"    "  THAT 
BEAUTIFUL    WHITE    DEVIL,"    ETC. 

With  a  frontispiece  by  L.   J.   Bridgman 
Cloth,  $1.50 


This  is  in  many  ways  the  strongest  and  most  interest- 
ing novel  as  yet  written  by  this  popular  author.  As  the 
tide  indicates,  "  My  Strangest  Case "  is  a  detective 
story,  a  new  departure  in  the  field  of  literature  for  Mr. 
Boothby.  It  has  to  do  with  buried  treasures  stolen  from 
the  ruined  palaces  of  a  forgotten  city  in  China  by  three 
adventurers,  one  of  whom  tricks  his  partners  and  escapes 
with  the  hard-won  spoils.  From  the  East  the  scene 
shifts  to  London,  Paris,  and  Italy,  in  the  endeavor  by 
the  hero  (the  detective)  to  track  the  principal  adventurer 
and  restore  to  the  latter's  partners  their  portion  of  the 
stolen  treasure.  The  hero  proves  himself  to  be  a  sec- 
ond Sherlock  Holmes  in  acumen  and  sang-froid;  and 
the  story  holds  one's  interest  to  the  last. 

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NEW    FICTION 


Jarvis  of  Harvard 

BY 
REGINALD  WRIGHT  KAUFFMAN 

Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative,  $1.50 
Illustrated  by  Robert  Edw*rdi 


A  strong  and  well-written  novel,  true  to  a  certain 
side  of  the  college  atmosphere,  not  only  in  the  details  of 
athletic  life,  but  in  the  spirit  of  college  social  and  society 
circles.  The  local  color  appeals  not  only  to  Harvard 
men,  but  to  their  rivals,  the  loyal  sons  of  Yale,  Penn- 
sylvania, and  Princeton.  Mr.  Kauffman  is  also  especially 
at  home  in  his  descriptions  of  the  society  doings  of  the 
smart  set  in  Philadelphia. 

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NEW   FICTION 


Memory    Street 

BY    MARTHA    BAKER    DUNN 

A    MOST    CHARMING    NEW    ENGLAND    STORY 

Illustrated 
Cloth,  i2tno,  $1.25 


"The  literary  style  of  the  volume  is  excellent." 

—  N.  T.  Times  Saturday  Review. 
"A  book   to   be   devoured   by  the  average  reader  is 
'  Memory  Street.'  "  —  Living  Age. 

One  of  the  best  New  England  stories  written  in  a 
long  time.  "  —  Congregationalist. 

"  The  book  is  charming  in  its  simplicity." 

—  S.  F.  Chronicle. 

"A  story  of  life,  without  egotism,  so  sweetly  and 
tenderly  told  as  to  play  at  the  heart-strings  which  have 
not  been  swept  on  memory's  lyre  for  years." 

—  St.  Paul  Globe. 


PUBLISHERS'   NOTE 

In  offering  this  book  to  the  reading  public,  the  pub- 
lishers have  no  hesitation  in  recommending  it  to  all 
interested  in  New  England  life.  It  has  repeatedly  been 
classed  with  the  work  of  such  well-known  "  New  Eng- 
land writers  "  as  Miss  Wilkins,  Miss  Jewett,  and  Miss 
Alice  Brown. 


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NEW   FICTION 


Page's 

Commonwealth    Series 

»• 

Literary  growth  in  America  has  been  of  late  years  as 
rapid  as  its  material  and  economical  progress.  The  vast  size 
of  the  country,  the  climatic  and  moral  conditions  of  its  differ- 
ent parts,  and  the  separate  political  and  social  elements,  have 
all  tended  to  create  distinct  methods  of  literary  expression  in 
various  sections.  In  offering  from  <dme  to  time  the  books 
in  the  "  COMMONWEALTH  SERIES,"  we  shall  select  a  novel  or 
story  descriptive  of  the  methods  of  thought  and  life  of  that 
particular  section  of  the  country  which  each  author  repre- 
sents. We  believe  the  series  will  be  of  permanent  value  as 
a  record  in  a  degree  of  American  life. 

The  success  attending  "  Her  Boston  Experiences,"  a 
story  typical  of  a  certain  phase  of  Massachusetts  life,  and 
the  first  of  this  series,  has  made  it  evident  that  the  venture 
is  appreciated,  and  it  is  confidently  expected  that  the  addi- 
tions to  the  series  will  meet  with  equal  favor.  The  elegance 
of  paper,  presswork,  and  binding,  and  the  lavish  and  artistic 
illustrations,  as  well  as  the  convenient  size,  add  not  a  little 
to  the  attractiveness  of  the  volumes. 

Each  I  vol.,  large  i6mo,  cloth,  gilt  top,  profusely  illustrated, 
$1.25. 


Published  in  Nineteen  Hundred 
No.  i.     (Massachusetts) 

Her   Boston    Experiences 

Seventh  edition.     By  ANNA  FARQUHAR  (MARGARET 
ALLSTON). 

"  The  first  book  for  Bostonians  to  read  on  returning  to 
their  homes  this  fall  is  '  Her  Boston  Experiences.'  It  will 
do  them  good." —  The  Literary  Wo-ijtd. 

"  The  book  is  really  enormously  clever."  —  Boston  Times. 

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NEW    FICTION 


Page's  Commonwealth  Series  —  Continued 
New   Volumes  for  Nineteen  Hundred  and  One 
No.  2.     (Virginia) 

A   Sunny   Southerner 

By  JULIA    MAGRUDER,   author  of  "  A  Magnificent 
Plebeian,"  "The  Princess  Sonia,"  etc. 
A  charming  love  story,  the  scene  of  which   is  laid  in  the 
Virginia  of  to-day.     The  plot  revolves  about  two  principal 
characters,  a  Southern  heroine  and  a  Northern  hero ;  and 
the  story  is  written  in  the  author's  usual  clever  style. 

No.  3.     (Maine) 

Lias's  Wife 

By  MARTHA  BAKER   DUNN,   author  of  "  Memory 

Street,"  etc. 

There  is  the  direct  appeal  of  a  story  that  has  been  really 
lived  in  this  charming  novel  of  Maine  life.  One  essential 
merit  of  the  book  is  its  reproduction  of  the  genuine  New 
England  atmosphere,  with  innumerable  idioms  quaintly 
delightful  to  encounter.  The  humor  is  pervasive  and  deli- 
cate, the  pathetic  touches  equally  effective.  In  short,  one 
might  search  far  for  a  more  attractive  tale  than  this  romance 
of  homely  American  life.  The  many  admirers  of  "  Memory 
Street"  will  read  "The  Queen  of  the  Shifting  Sands,"  with 
even  greater  delight. 

No.  4.      (District  of  Columbia) 

Her  Washington   Experiences 

By    ANNA    FARQUHAR,    author    of   "  The    Devil's 
Plough,"  etc. 

There  will  be  no  brighter  book  published  this  season  than 
"  Her  Washington  Experiences."  The  Cabinet  member's 
wife,  through  whose  eyes  we  are  given  a  glimpse  into  Wash- 
ington society,  has  a  vision  delightfully  true  and  clear ;  her 
impressions  of  the  city  as  a  whole,  compared  in  character 
with  other  places,  are  well  worth  reading  for  their  epigram- 
matic brilliancy  and  apt  contrasts. 

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NEW    FICTION 


The  Devil's  Plough 

BY   ANNA   FARQUHAR 

AUTHOR     OF     "  HER     BOSTON     EXPERIENCES  " 

With  colored  frontispiece  by 

Frank   T.   Merrill 
Decorative  cloth,  library  i2mo.     Price,  $1.50 


"A  priest  is  but  a  man  after  all." 

—  Father  V  Artanges. 

"  The  tale  is  powerful.  There  is  no  lack  of  inci- 
dent, and  the  style  of  the  author  is  carefully  adapted  to 
the  style  of  her  characters."  —  Portland  Transcript. 

"  The  story  is  exceedingly  interesting,  the  various 
scenes  are  drawn  with  great  vigor." 

—  Cambridge  Tribune. 

ft  One  of  the  strongest  novels  of  the  season.  There 
is  hardly  anything  in  recent  fiction  more  original  than 
the  tone  and  incident  of  this  fascinating  book,  which 
deals  so  capably  with  the  most  powerful  human  emo- 
tions. '  '  —  Buffalo  Courier. 

"  The  priest  is  a  splendid  character,  blessed  or  cursed 
—  as  the  tide  might  draw  him  —  with  a  dual  nature. 
There  is  a  tremendous  struggle,  which  the  author  works 
out  with  well-sustained  skill.  "  -  —  The  Book  Buyer. 

"  Masterly  in  its  dramatic  power  is  the  portrayal  of 
the  parting  between  Gaston  and  Heloise,  when  he  has 
conquered  the  flesh  and  the  devil  and  sets  out  on  his 
journey  to  the  wilderness."  —  Nashville  American. 

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NEW   FICTION 


Manasseh 

BY     MAURUS    JOKAI 


AUTHOR     OF    "BLACK     DIAMONDS,"    "THE 

BARON'S  SONS,"  "  PRETTY  MICHAL," 

ETC.,  ETC. 


Translated  into  English  by  Percy  F.   Bicknell.      Fully 
illustrated 

I2mo,  cloth,  $1.50 


An  absorbing  story  of  life  among  a  happy  and  primitive 
people  hidden  away  in  far  Transylvania,  whose  peaceful 
life  is  never  disturbed  except  by  the  inroads  of  their  tur- 
bulent neighbors.  The  opening  scenes  are  laid  in  Rome  ; 
and  the  view  of  the  corrupt,  intriguing  society  there  forms 
a  picturesque  contrast  to  the  scenes  of  pastoral  simplicity 
and  savage  border  warfare  that  succeed.  Mr.  Bicknell 
has  well  performed  the  difficult  task  of  losing  none  of  the 
power  of  the  original  work  in  translating. 

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NEW    FICTION 


THE 

Seigneur  de  Beaufoy 

BY  HAMILTON    DRUMMOND 

AUTHOR    OF    "THE    KING'S    PAWN,"    ETC. 

I2mo,  cloth,  $1.50 
Illustrated 


These  adventures  of  the  proud  and  powerful  Seigneur 
de  Beaufoy  throw  a  striking  side-light  on  the  political 
and  social  condition  of  France  during  the  time  of  Charles 
VII.  and  his  crafty  son  Louis  XI.,  — how  Beaufoy  ruled 
his  vast  domains,  warred  with  his  neighbors,  succored 
the  weak  and  humbled  the  powerful,  opposed  priest  and 
abbot,  made  terms  with  dauphin  and  king,  —  all  this  is 
set  forth  with  a  purity  of  style  and  a  dramatic  force  that 
stamp  Mr.  Drummond  as  one  of  the  leading  romancers 
of  the  day . 

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NEW    FICTION 


The  King's  Ring 

A  ROMANCE  OF  THE   DAYS  OF  GUSTAVUS 
ADOLPHUS    AND    THE    THIRTY    YEARS*    WAR 

Translated  from  the  Swedish  of  Zacbarias  Topelins 

BY  SOPHIE  OHRWALL  AND    HER- 
BERT  ARNOLD 

I2mo,  cloth,  with  photogravure  portrait  of  the  author,  $1.50 


"The  King's  Ring"  marks  a  new  departure  in 
American  publications.  For  the  first  time  an  author  of 
the  Swedish  romantic  school,  and  one  of  the  prominent 
European  writers  of  fiction,  is  introduced  to  our  reading 
public.  It  is  true  that  the  realm  of  historic  romance  has 
been  very  thoroughly  invaded  in  the  years  past.  One 
corner,  however,  has  not  been  entered,  and  this  the  trans- 
lators of  this  thoroughly  absorbing  tale  of  the  Lion  of  the 
North  have  done.  The  romance  has  already  taken  high 
rank  abroad  among  novels  of  historical  adventure,  and 
we  anticipate  the  same  success  for  it  among  American 
readers. 

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..^.SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILIT 


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